Dragon Age: The Kill
by Shadow of Light
Summary: Zevran, friend of Warden Commander Asleena Cousland. Shianni, elf of Denerim. Xai, Crow turned Warden. Shale, once dwarf, once golem. Ciela Tabris...who never had Duncan attend her wedding. The Tevinter Imperium. Blood Mages. Sequel to 'The Hunt'.
1. One Year Later

_Author's Notes: Dear Readers, this fic is a sequel to _'Dragon Age: The Hunt'_. While that tale is not necessary reading in order to enjoy this one, _The Kill _will have some references to events and characters from its predecessor, and certain companions from the game will remain affected by what happened in the first story._

The Kill _will also be making references to the City Elf Origin, which in this setting Duncan was not present for, so if anything in that game scenario disturbed you then be warned there will eventually be mention of it here._

_I recommend 'Atlantis' by Two Steps From Hell as 'trailer music' for _The Kill. _You can find it on Youtube. ;)_

_Finally, to those who came along on _The Hunt_...welcome back.__  
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Zevran dashed between the night-darkened trees towards the noises of clashing steel and raised voices.

A short distance away on his right there was an elven shadow with a bow keeping easy pace, and on his left a human with twin swords. The three of them had been coming in from the east to attempt an unseen flank against a band of darkspawn, an attack that should have coincided with a more direct assault planned by the Warden Commander, but by the sounds of things something had gone wrong.

Boots pounded against damp soil and fallen leaves, all colour muted in the darkness until, from up ahead, there was a ghastly roar followed by a brilliant golden light. Zevran cleared the last tree just in time to see one of two hurlock emissaries with its arms outstretched towards the Commander, flames jetting from its fingertips. Asleena had one arm upraised and her helmeted head turned away, but was still moving _towards _the monster as the fire danced around her dragonbone armour. Two other darkspawn that had been caught in the blaze were writhing on the leaf-strewn ground behind her.

The colder, starker flash of lightning illuminated the clearing as the second emissary finished a spell of its own, sending crackling energy lancing between bodies to the sound of pained shouts, but then it flew backwards as Alistair leapt and slammed Duncan's shield into its body. He was forced away from a killing blow as four darkspawn archers targeted him with their bows.

"Shield the civilians!" Asleena shouted, still surrounded by flames, and it was only then that Zevran noticed the cowering trio of peasants crouched to one side, currently being protected by a sword-wielding elven woman who was aglow with magic. Sindel's face was a mask of fury as she employed her Arcane Warrior training to hold two genlocks at bay with spell and blade, and Alistair was quickly beside her as he used shield and body to block the huddled people from wayward arrows.

Zevran glanced quickly at his two companions. The elf, Galahan, was already nocking an arrow to his bowstring and taking aim at the emissary Alistair had knocked down. The human, Xai, sped straight for the cluster of archers and impaled two from behind before they even knew he was there.

Zevran darted around the edge of the clearing, angling for the emissary attacking Asleena and avoiding notice until he could come up behind it. His sword slid from its scabbard across his back, then smoothly between the hurlock's ribs and out its chest. The beast arched backwards with a gurgle at the blow, and Zevran, feeling the long-familiar death-quiver travelling from his blade to tremble up his arm, indulged himself with a satisfied grin.

_That is how it is done._

A second later there was a swish of heavy metal and the emissary's head parted company with its shoulders. Foul-smelling blood fountained from the stump, a good potion of it splattering straight into Zevran's hair.

The assassin let his victim slide to the ground with a sigh and gave Asleena a reproachful look. "Thank you ever so much," he said dryly, running a couple of fingers over his sullied blond locks.

"Oh, I've given you an excuse to tumble another servant in the bathtub, have I?" she riposted with a slight smirk and arched brow visible behind the nose guard of her helm. "Is this where I'm meant to apologise?"

Zevran laughed. "There are still a fair few darkspawn as yet unslain," he pointed out. "Be sure to properly dirty me up, my Grey Warden."

Without the support of their spellcasters, the remaining darkspawn did not take long to dispatch between the combined force of five Grey Wardens and a former Antivan Crow. The clearing and its occupants were liberally soaked in blood by the time it was all over, but the fight had Zevran in high spirits. He'd escaped without a wound too, which was always a nice boost to his pride.

Wiping his blades clean, he ambled over to where Asleena was talking quietly to Galahan.

"…didn't have much choice but to follow her when she ran ahead," the Warden Commander was saying, keeping her voice low as she nodded to where Sindel, with Alistair's aid, was tending to the civilians the darkspawn had captured. "There was no harm this time, but if you, Zevran and Xai hadn't been coming in to back us up things would have turned nasty very quickly."

"Do you want me to talk to her about it?" the Dalish hunter replied.

Asleena sighed and leaned on her sword Yusaris. "Her reaction is perfectly understandable. Had the darkspawn actually been _doing_ anything to them I'm positive I'd have charged just as quickly…but they weren't. Just seeing them tied up provoked her. Talk to her about it if you like, she _is _your bonded, but I'll have to bring it up to her too once we get back to Highever." Asleena grimaced. "I'm her _commander_."

Galahan nodded, shouldered his bow and crossed the clearing to his wife. Zevran glanced at Asleena, who was counting darkspawn corpses under her breath. Xai was making a circuit of the bodies, double-checking to ensure they were all dead.

"I thought the Blight ended a year ago," Zevran remarked once Asleena had finished her tally and shaken her head.

"It did," she muttered, pulling off her helmet. She ran a hand through her dark, sweaty hair. "This makes no sense, Zev. They should be retreating to the Deep Roads, not pushing towards the coast, but every month their presence just increases. It's too _organised_."

"Another archdemon?" he suggested.

She shook her head again, firmly this time. "No…of that we're sure of."

"No dreams," Alistair put in, coming up to join them as he slung his shield across his back.

"I might have to go to Denerim or Amaranthine to get some answers," Asleena said, with noticeable reluctance. Alistair, too, looked unhappy at the suggestion. "We can discuss it when we return to the castle, but we all knew I'd have to go eventually."

Zevran was well aware that Alistair had no desire to visit Denerim, and some of his reasons were actually good ones. Grinning, the assassin threw a companionable arm around the former Templar's armoured shoulder and said, "Take heart, my friend! I can accompany your fair lady to Ferelden's capital, and I swear to you right here that I will allow no trouble to befall her."

"Zevran," Alistair said with marked patience, "you _are _trouble."

"But I will not befall her." Zevran winked at Asleena, who rolled her eyes, folded her arms and regarded both men with commingled irritation and amusement.

"I could order you to stay here," she told him.

"Truly?" the Antivan murmured, still smiling. "I do so adore a woman who gives orders. What say you, my good friend Alistair? Do you not love it when she gives you orders?"

"Er. Sometimes? I guess?"

"Only sometimes? Why, just the other evening I happened to be passing by the room you two share, and I heard her ordering you to press your—"

"Woah!" Alistair blushed to the roots of his hair, hastily disentangling himself from the assassin's half-embrace while Asleena made a sound that was halfway between choking and laughter. "That stuff's _personal!_"

"You did seem to be quite enjoying it as I recall, yes, but next time might I suggest flexing your—"

"That is so _it,_" Alistair interrupted, rounding on Asleena. "I'm going to talk to your brother when we get back to the castle. We're getting a thicker door. A _much _thicker door."

He stalked off towards Galahan and Sindel, muttering to himself and leaving Asleena to fix the grinning Zevran with a reproving look that didn't quite hide her smile.

"He's right, you know," she said. "You're trouble."

"One of my many fine qualities," he agreed with a florid bow. "So, shall I be accompanying you to Denerim? I must admit I am interested to see the big city again after so many months."

"The Crows might have re-established a cell there since the siege."

"And if they try anything, we will kill them quite messily, no? Besides, perhaps a change of scenery is in order. I have rather missed the excitement of travelling and getting tangled up in villainous plots."

She smiled at that. "We'll talk it over at the castle. We should get these people to safety and healing first."

_If any healing will help them._

The Warden Commander left those words unspoken, but Zevran knew she thought them every time they came across a situation such as this. He watched her go over to Sindel and Alistair before he himself went to help Galahan drag the corpses into a pile for burning.

Sometimes the darkspawn captives hadn't been taken or tainted. Sometimes they were broken beyond saving. Frequently, all that could be done for them was to kill them. It was an act of mercy in Zevran's eyes, a release from a slow and painful descent into inevitable madness, but Asleena, Alistair and Sindel took every such case hard. Galahan didn't seem to mind it so much, or perhaps he merely hid it well. And as for Xai Merras…

Zevran glanced to where the former master Crow was standing watch, blades still unsheathed and dripping blood.

The first time they had encountered darkspawn with prisoners, several months ago, they had found a young elven man who was showing all the signs of becoming a ghoul. Xai had offered to do the deed when Asleena's sword had wavered, but as soon as the words had left his lips the Warden Commander had acted, swift and fatal, the first of many tainted innocents to die by her blade because she was incapable of ordering another to do such a thing on her behalf.

Xai still knew how to make the kill without wielding a weapon.

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Later that night, a fire was blazing in the gigantic hearth of Castle Cousland's entrance hall and the companions stood or sat at varying definitions of 'at ease' in the comfortable glow of warmth. For Zevran, this amounted to lounging back in a velvet-upholstered chair with one leg hooked casually over a carved wooden arm, a posture that showed off a decent portion of tanned, lithely-muscled calf and thigh to anyone who cared look his way.

Not that living in luxury for the past several months had made him complacent. He kept an eye on the doors leading into the hall as well as glancing to the high ceilings every so often. The Crows had never attempted anything while he'd been here (he suspected the guild did not dare any sort of attack on Asleena's home after what had happened with Rendon Howe), and he had made no small efforts of his own to identify weak points in the keep, blind areas where the household guard didn't look, and generally assist in the security of the castle. This had earned him the gratitude of Teyrn Fergus, an actual income, and a certain level of self-satisfaction that any assassins who came looking to fulfil a contract at Castle Cousland would be in for all sorts of unpleasant surprises.

Otherwise, when he wasn't relaxing or enjoying the pleasures Highever had to offer, Zevran had made himself useful training both the household guard and the Grey Warden recruits—although the latter had been limited to Galahan and Sindel. Xai Merras tended to smirk at the notion that Zevran could teach him a single useful move he didn't already know, and deigned to spar only at Asleena's request.

Thought of the master assassin again caused Zevran to cast his eyes in the man's direction. Xai was standing in half-shadow by the fireplace and listening intently to something Asleena was saying to him. She was the only person the man took orders from without question and, as far as Zevran was aware, the only person he openly spoke with. Oh, he would talk to anyone, but personal questions were deflected or answered vaguely unless one happened to be the Warden Commander. Even Galahan, who had a talent for drawing people out and learning what drove them, admitted he remained in the dark where Xai was concerned. The master assassin knew how to hide, and whatever confidences he shared with Asleena were kept private. All she had revealed was that Xai considered it risky to allow Zevran's presence in Highever, believing it would sooner or later attract Crows and possibly result in collateral damage.

Asleena had accepted her recruit's position, told him in no uncertain terms that Zevran would only be leaving when he chose to, then ordered that if Zevran was ever in significant danger then Xai was to defend his life with as much zeal as he would Asleena's.

Personally, Zevran hoped he would never have to thank Xai for saving his life.

One of the doors opened and Teyrn Fergus stepped into the hall, flanked by two guards. Those who were sitting made to rise, but the young lord waved them all back into their seats.

"It's too late to bother with formalities, my friends," he said with a tired smile, then glanced to his sister. "What's this all about?"

"The darkspawn threat isn't easing, Fergus," she replied bluntly. "If anything, it's getting worse. I want to ride for Denerim and then Amaranthine to work out what's going on. Some of the more senior Grey Wardens have to know something."

Fergus instantly looked concerned. "You're not taking everyone with you, are you?"

"And leave Highever unprotected?" Asleena grinned. "You know me better than that. No, that's what I wanted to talk about. I suggest that Alistair remains here with Galahan and Sindel to assist."

"I still think leaving me in charge is a bad idea," Alistair pointed out. "But…I guess I have two good friends to back me up, or kick me if I do something stupid." The ex-Templar looked to the Dalish couple with a wry smile. "You _will _let me know if I forget to put my pants on the right way around, won't you?"

"You're not going with Asleena?" Fergus asked, looking surprised.

"We talked about it," Alistair admitted. "The thing is…when someone attempts a coup on the throne in your name, it makes things _really awkward _when you want to pay a friendly visit to court. I'm even less popular in Ferelden now than I was a year ago."

Only ten days past the palace at Denerim had been infiltrated and armed men and women had made a bold attempt to seize the crown from Anora in the name of 'King Alistair Theirin'. There had been no proof of Alistair's involvement, but enough people had died in the bloodbath to stir ill will.

"I'm going to talk to Anora about that," Asleena promised. "I'll get your name cleared. If both Fergus and I can vouch for you, that should prevent official repercussions."

Fergus nodded. "Everyone in Highever is behind you in this, Alistair," he said. "You're out there almost every day helping to fight the darkspawn. I'll vouch for you, if necessary."

Asleena said, "As for me going to Denerim, I'll take Ferrix if he's healed by tomorrow morning."

Ferrix, Asleena's mabari warhound, had finally fallen afoul of the blight sickness…naturally several months _after _the end of the Blight. Remedies existed for the magically-bred hounds, however, and he was slowly recovering. Zevran had heard that surviving the infection would even grant the dog an immunity from becoming ill a second time.

"Zevran has also offered to come along," Asleena continued, "and Xai will be riding with us."

The two former Crows exchanged a look, the human with a faint smile, the elf with a resigned shake of his head.

"Marvellous," Zevran said sourly.


	2. Highever

_Author's Note: Hopefully posting will become more regular soon. . Unexpected business this week, and now I detect the dreaded flu. Thanks for the reviews! :) I'm pretty excited about some of the things planned once we get into the 'main quest'..._

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There was a long, contented sigh as Zevran ran a gloved hand down shoulder, across ribs and over a hip.

"I suppose this will be the last we see of each other for a time," the elf said musingly, his head canted back against the wooden wall as his fingers rubbed back up the warm body pressed to his hip and thigh.

His companion shifted slightly, rolling over to allow more access but otherwise silent.

"No need to say anything," Zevran went on, "I shall miss these moments of ours almost as much as you, my friend. Although I suspect you will find a replacement for me quite soon enough, no?"

Ferrix made a grumbling sound.

"But it's true. You need only roll over and any number of young men and women will want to rub your belly." Zevran grinned as he scratched just beneath the last rib in that sensitive spot that made one of the mabari's hind legs twitch. "Another benefit to being a dog, yes?"

There was a lazy blink of brown eyes at this and a grunt.

"Quite so. It is like the canine equivalent to sauntering around with one's shirt off. And being sick? Attention and table scraps will be _showered _upon you, my friend."

Ferrix rolled over to lie on his stomach and settled his heavy head in Zevran's lap, whimpering softly. The assassin chuckled, hoping the dog was simply playing up his discomfort to take advantage, and slipped him a piece of dried meat. He always kept a few treats hidden about his person, purely for bribery purposes if anyone asked, but supposed he wouldn't be needing them after today.

"Yes, I shall be terribly sad to part ways with such a fine companion," he said, half to himself as the dog munched on the snack and left drool on his leathers.

It was dawn and Zevran would be leaving Highever today. After a round of farewells to various people he'd made the acquaintances of over the past few months, he'd found himself in the stables and sitting in the stall Ferrix had reserved for himself. The mabari liked the horses and the hay, and as he couldn't be kept inside while sick Asleena had brought his blankets down here.

As much as Zevran liked to remark on the warhound's smell and inability to clean up after himself, he had a fondness for the animal. Ferrix never asked questions and was always inexplicably happy to see him. And he was a more agreeable companion than Xai Merras by far.

"What do you think of our resident master assassin, my friend?" he asked Ferrix. "Do you like him?"

Ferrix's stubby tail wagged once or twice. Zevran frowned.

"Hm. But you like me more, yes?"

For answer, the mabari lifted his head and proceeded to lick Zevran's face. With enthusiasm.

Asleena's amused voice said, "When you said you wanted to say goodbye to a few people, Zev, I had no idea…"

Zevran cracked an eye open on the side that wasn't being liberally smeared with saliva and grinned up at the armoured woman leaning over the door of the stall. "I will take my kisses where I can get them, my dear."

"So I see." She reached down, having to stretch to scratch Ferrix's head. "And you're still worrying about Xai. You _can _remain in Highever, you know."

"I would sooner drink that foul swill Oghren brews than watch you and Xai head off together," Zevran replied darkly as he rose to his feet. "I neither trust him nor like him."

Animosity wasn't something Zevran was accustomed to. He'd known dislike, disdain and scorn, but couldn't rightly say if he'd ever _hated _anyone, and definitely not so far as to want to slit their throat or season their evening tea with something painful and deadly. Murder had always been an impersonal act for him…and one he'd been paid quite well for.

Xai frequently toed that line though. He would say something apparently innocuous, Zevran would take the bait, then some detail of his Crow past would be dredged up and cast in as foul a light as the context would allow for all to hear. Worse, Zevran _knew_ he was being played but couldn't manage to keep his mouth shut half the time. It left him irritated enough that he inevitably failed to follow up with clever ripostes or witty jokes, anything that would have his friends grinning rather than exchanging uneasy glances…

And the human _smiled _every time it happened. "Like a smug bastard," Alistair had said on more than one occasion.

Zevran had not been able to figure out if Xai's cheerful needling was for pure entertainment value, a deliberate goad or to some other point. He certainly didn't single out anyone else—no one in Asleena's direct sphere of influence, anyway.

She opened the gate for him now. "At least he's not trying to kill you."

Zevran snorted, stood and brushed straw from his armour. "For the opportunity to shove my sword through his chest and claim self-defence I would welcome the attempt. Do _you _trust him?"

"Not as much as I trust you," she said, which Zevran took to mean that she _did_, if only a bit. When he scowled, she sighed. "Listen…I'd rather _we_ keep an eye on him than let Alistair, Galahan and Sindel deal with his presence. Those three make a good team, and I think the Dalish would be a better influence on Alistair without Xai being around. Alistair can learn a lot about leadership from them, and they know how to guide without mocking."

"Hmm." Zevran narrowed his eyes slightly and smiled. "What are you not telling me, my dear? Surely you are not bringing Xai Merras along to Denerim just so the two of us can keep him out of the way?"

"I also think he'd be useful looking out for Crows," Asleena said. "He can provide some additional protection for both of us."

Zevran made a disgusted noise. "Did I ever tell you how little I approve of the idea of him watching our backs?"

"Yes, actually," she said dryly, taking his place in the stall and kneeling to give Ferrix a goodbye hug. "You might be able to stay suspicious of him forever, Zev, but I can't afford to ostracise him. Like it or not, Xai is a Grey Warden."

"Do you _like _him?" Zevran pressed.

"I don't care for how he treats you," Asleena replied, glancing up at him. "I…think I understand him, though, from what he's told me of himself."

_If what he's told you is true, _Zevran thought to himself, but out loud he noted, "Understanding isn't the same as liking."

"No," she agreed, unsmiling. "It isn't." Settling down on the floor with Ferrix, she changed the subject. "We'll be leaving in a few minutes. The horses are in the courtyard and the others are waiting there to see us off. Galahan was waiting for you to show up…he said he wanted to talk to you about something."

Recognising this as a subtle request for him to leave her with Ferrix so she could say her own farewells, he nodded and crouched to give the mabari a final pat on the head.

"_Bonne niviati,_" he said. "Be well, my friend. When we return I will expect at least a dozen fair maidens rhapsodizing about how you rescued them from evil towers or darkspawn or other such ugly fates."

Ferrix wagged his tail and made a wuffling noise while Asleena smiled softly, and Zevran strode out of the stable before he could feel any more awkward about getting sentimental over saying goodbye to a dog.

Outside it was all clear skies and the promise of fair weather, an excellent start for a day of riding. The stable had been a late addition to Castle Cousland, built after the end of the Blight between the outer walls of the keep and castle proper, erected chiefly to give Asleena's warhorse (along with Zevran and Alistair's lesser animals) a dry place to sleep and provide suitable storage for riding tack. Horses were not common in Ferelden, but since the Orlesian Chevaliers had assisted in beating back the darkspawn, the animals were steadily growing in popularity. In the south, away from the troubles plaguing the Coastlands, some banns had started purchasing horses for breeding.

Zevran made his way to the courtyard and found, as predicted, three horses saddled and ready for the ride to Denerim. Bridles were being gripped by servants, and a number of bystanders had gathered to watch the eventual departure. Among the throng stood Galahan, who was talking with Sindel, Alistair and Fergus until he caught sight of Zevran, excused himself and walked over.

"Come to bid me a fond farewell?" Zevran asked with a grin when the golden-haired hunter drew near.

"You will be missed," the other man said, "by more people than you may believe, I think."

Zevran shrugged at that, not sure himself if he _did _believe, and glanced up at the high towers. "I have grown fond of the place, I admit, and the company has not been bad. I daresay the air will smell sweeter with a certain man leaving in my company."

"I wish I could give you some advice regarding him," Galahan murmured, his eyes flicking briefly to an alcove wherein a solitary shadow leaned against a wall. "Asleena seems to trust him somewhat, and while I trust _her_…I remain wary. I suspect his training as a Crow was more thorough than your own."

"This would not surprise me," Zevran said. "Masters are said to be tested rigorously before they are promoted. More fun on the rack, perhaps." He cocked his head. "Is this what you told Asleena you wished to speak to me about?"

"Oh…no. I dreamed about you last night."

"Truly? Well, it was bound to happen eventually," Zevran replied with a wicked grin, placing a hand on his friend's leather-clad shoulder. "Our romp in the Fade was pleasant, I hope? You enjoyed yourself?"

"Very much, yes," the hunter agreed, his expression grave but a smile in his green eyes. "A pity you don't recall any of it, lethallin."

Zevran sighed. "It is most unfair, yes. And now you come to torture me with the delicious details. What were we up to, then?"

"'We'?" Galahan shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately I was only watching your adventure. I did not take part."

"So we both missed out? Alas. But what was I doing, if it was not a handsome Dalish Warden?"

A slight smile curved Galahan's lips. "Flying. You touched the sky."

Zevran deliberately lifted his brows. "And this warrants mentioning because...?"

Galahan's smile broadened. "Dreams have long been of interest to me. It is how I first started taking an interest in Alistair when we met in the Free Marches.

"Dirthamen, the Keeper of Secrets, once walked with those who ventured beyond the Veil and explained the meanings behind what the dreamers saw. When he was sealed away with the other Creators, his guidance was lost. We still dream, but what we see is often clouded, forgotten or corrupted by our fears. More often than not they are meaningless to us, but some dreams share a common theme and the People…remember, or recover lore from the days of Arlathan that grants clarity.

"This dream I had of you, such as I remember it, is…auspicious."

"You are being vague, my friend," Zevran remarked, clicking his tongue reprovingly. "Telling me nothing with many words. Usually you reveal a lot more with far fewer."

"Abelas," Galahan apologised, chuckling. "Interpreting dreams is imprecise and I have no wish to give you an explanation that may prove misguided or incomplete." He spread his hands. "I woke…feeling I had to share this with you. There is a Dalish saying about touching the sky…but another time. Perhaps when you return and tell us of your travels it will mean something."

"Perhaps," Zevran said, a touch wryly. In his opinion prophetic dreams and fortune-tellings often 'made sense' in retrospect, but he respected Galahan too much to voice this. "I think I prefer my own dreams. Would you like me to describe the one I had last night to you?"

"I'm surprised you had time to dream at all, lethallin. Weren't you busy saying goodbye to people?"

Zevran laughed and nodded towards Alistair, Fergus and Sindel. "Is this my cue to farewell your wife?"

"Be my guest. Just remember that _you _taught her how to fend off unwanted attention with a sword."

"Naturally." Zevran grinned. "After all, how could I forget such a beautiful sparring partner?"

They both wandered over, Zevran taking the opportunity to press a lingering kiss to Sindel's fingers and grip the wrists of the two humans.

"Dareth shirel," Sindel said, smiling. "It won't be the same without you and Asleena around."

Fergus was grinning at that. "Well I, for one, am _glad_ to see you go, Zev. Maybe when you're gone I'll be able to attract a lady who won't melt at the mere sight of you slinking through Highever's halls, or the sound of your smooth, Maker-cursed Antivan accent."

They all laughed, in part because Zevran _did _tend to pull the eyes of visiting Ferelden ladies, but mostly because it was Fergus making the jest. For a long time after losing his wife and son he had been reluctant to endure the attentions of the opposite sex, and his humour on such subjects (something Asleena said he'd used to joke about all the time) had been slow to return.

Zevran liked to think he'd had a hand in that recovery.

Alistair said, "Watch your back out there, and come back in one piece. Oh, and if you return feeling some pressing need to prove a point with me…could you just hit me next time?"

"_Hit_ you?" Zevran echoed innocently, then tsked. "I do not think that would be a good idea, my friend. Hands are delicate instruments in my line of work and you have a manly, chiselled jaw. I would hate to hurt myself."

"So…you'd rather I hit you?"

"Hrm. I _am _quite fond of my face." Zevran smiled. "But if you wish to hit me elsewhere, I would not object to a good spanking."

"S…sp-spank you? I don't…think…" Alistair stopped, gave Zevran a long look, then said, "If I shut up now, I won't be able to look like an idiot. So I'll do that."

Zevran only grinned. He didn't say he'd watch out for Asleena on the road, and Alistair didn't ask him to. Both men knew some things didn't have to be said. While Zevran doubted he'd ever consider the former Templar a close friend, they had reached an accord of sorts since Starkhaven. That Alistair trusted the assassin at his back in a fight now was a big step from almost two years ago, when the Warden had loudly protested accepting Zevran into the party after the attempt on his and Asleena's lives.

A few minutes passed of idle talk while they waited for Asleena to return, and when the Warden Commander entered the courtyard there was a general stir as humans and elves turned to look. She was a popular figure in her ancestral home. Not only was it widely known that one of the Teyrn's family personally fought the darkspawn to protect their homes, she made frequent visits to the local Alienage with Galahan and Sindel, at the latter's request, then discussed with her brother how things might be improved there. Seeing the lot of Denerim's elves during the Blight had opened her eyes, and she seemed determined that those who lived in Highever would be treated more fairly.

Xai detached from his wall to shadow her as she approached her friends, lover and brother, but kept a respectful distance when she reached the group and made her own farewells. She embraced all of them in turn, kissing her brother on the cheek and Alistair on the lips (provoking a few cheers and whistles from the crowd, which made both Wardens blush).

Zevran was able to smile at the spectacle, but did not watch too attentively. His affection for Asleena had not disappeared but enough time had passed that he was comfortable with how things were, and he considered himself too practical to pine for something he would never possess. It was clear who held her heart. Alistair's moral values were more in tune with Asleena's own, and even if they squabbled like children at times they were undoubtedly in love.

And then, a moment later, horses were being mounted and the Warden Commander was leading the way out the gates on her grey charger. There were some shouted farewells and benedictions for Maker's blessings from behind, and Asleena laughed.

"The way they're carrying on you'd think we were planning to be away for weeks!"

"Asleena, my dear," Zevran remarked, "where you go, interesting things happen and interesting people die in interesting ways. We may well be away for more than a little while."

She looked back at him and made a face. "Maybe. But we're only going to Denerim and Amaranthine. It's really not that far."

"Which one were you planning on visiting first, if I may ask?"

"Denerim. It's further away, but I want to handle Anora first. We can then take the Pilgrim's Path north to the arling and head home along the coast." She turned to glance at Xai Merras then. "There will be darkspawn along the way, so try sensing them as best you can and let me know when you feel anything. I want to see how you're developing."

"So it shall be, Commander," he agreed.

"All right." Asleena turned her face ahead and rubbed the neck of her stallion. "Let's get some distance behind us."

Heels pressed to flanks and the horses picked up speed, bearing the three travellers towards Denerim City.


	3. Denerim

It took longer than usual to reach Denerim; a full week, due to the troubles along the way. They travelled cross-country at a canter most of the time, southeast across the Bannorn to skirt the Hafter River before finally reaching the West Road which would lead them directly to the city. While patrols were doing what they could at keeping the lands clear of darkspawn, they didn't have the advantages Grey Wardens possessed of sensing nearby but unseen threats. As a result, Asleena and (more frequently) Xai constantly reined in their horses to look off in some seemingly random direction before saying something along the lines of, "A small group of darkspawn is at rest," or "A larger force is in conflict." This led to inevitable deviations and, almost always, violence. On one occasion they had sat in their saddles to watch from a grassy hilltop as two groups of darkspawn butchered each other for no readily apparent reason, only to ride in afterwards and take care of the victors.

Sometimes the three slept in shifts, but occasionally they were fortunate enough to meet up with patrols and share their camps for the evening. Once convinced of the riders' identities (Asleena had brought both her family signet ring and a Grey Warden token), the soldiers were always more than happy to accommodate them. Zevran assumed they were going on the principle that a Grey Warden would be able to sense any threats sneaking up on them in the night. He wondered, with a hint of amusement, if any of them knew the taint-sense worked both ways.

The journey itself, or the company rather, wasn't as unpleasant as Zevran had expected it to be. Asleena would speak to each assassin in turn, and the one she was not addressing at the time would keep out of the conversation completely. On Zevran's part this was a conscious effort to keep his mouth shut at times, but he couldn't tell if Xai had been ordered to behave or not. He noticed the Warden Commander made no attempt to get her two companions talking to each other—a relief when he thought about it, though at one point he wondered if the effort to avoid friction wearied her. She even took the second watch on nights they had no other company, just so neither assassin would be forced to wake the other.

Zevran couldn't have called the whole trip _enjoyable_, however. He was simply unable to relax with the former master around, and constantly looked forward to the end of each day where Xai would retire for the evening, leaving Asleena and him alone at the campfire for a time.

He was relieved when the walls of Denerim came into view, though he masked it with a wry comment: "There it is: the jewel of Ferelden's crown, as our friend Leliana would say. Do you think it is still as muddy and dog-infested as it was last time?"

"And Antiva, with its corrupt politicians and assassins is any better?" Asleena said in a mild voice.

"One can have quite a pleasant evening with a politician or assassin, my dear. Dogs and mud, on the other hand…not as appealing." Zevran paused, then amended, "Though in certain situations, mud _can_ be put to pleasurable use…hm. Perhaps I have been looking at Denerim from completely the wrong angle for all this time."

"I don't want to know."

Zevran grinned. "That is entirely your choice, of course."

"Do you have an opinion on Denerim, Xai?" she asked the other assassin.

"Given its recent history," the man replied, "I would say Denerim has its own share of corrupt politicians, Commander. And what was the coup if not an assassination attempt, albeit a poor one?"

"So we've established that Ferelden's shining jewel isn't so immaculate," Asleena said dryly.

"Did you ever believe otherwise, Commander?"

"Once. When I was younger than I am now." She nodded towards the distant bulk of the palace. "Let's pay Her Majesty a visit."

The ride to the palace was uneventful. Although Zevran knew three armed riders were unlikely to be challenged, he kept his eyes open for ambitious bowmen all the same.

"Whatever happened to that Crow who attacked us in Denerim after the coronation?" he asked. "Did we ever find out the reasons behind that?"

"Anora had him hanged before Xai got to question him," Asleena replied. "He also tried to track down Master Ignacio for some answers, but didn't find anything. Ignacio probably cleared out of Denerim before the siege."

"Xai found nothing," Zevran repeated, his tone flat. "Truly."

"Don't worry, Zevran," Xai said with a smile. "I am to try and locate a Crow cell again on our current visit. You will be able to accuse me of whatever dire plots you wish."

"You think they will just let you in for a chat," Zevran retorted, "after leaving them for the Grey Wardens?"

A dark brow quirked upwards, that insufferable smile widening a taunting fraction. "Why not? _I _never failed any of my contracts, and I was recruited into the Grey. I didn't grovel to be taken in."

"If Xai still has any connections, Zev," Asleena interrupted before the elf could do more than grind his teeth, "I'm going to try to get some use out of them. I want to know if anything's going on, and if I can get the Crows off your back as well as mine and Alistair's, so much the better."

"I doubt it will be so easy as asking, my dear," Zevran pointed out, trying to control his annoyance. "Ignacio wanted you to take contracts from him, no? And even then he said the price on your head would not simply go away."

"We'll see. That's what Xai's going to try and find out."

"Zevran is correct about the contract not being lifted, Commander," Xai said, becoming serious. "The best you can hope for is convincing other cells not to assist in any future attempts."

"Reducing the threat is better than nothing. But what about getting them to leave Zevran alone?"

Xai only shook his head. "One day they will come for him."

"Of that I have no doubt," Zevran muttered under his breath, his eyes on the former master rather than the rooftops.

* * *

The damage dealt by the darkspawn had almost been completely erased in the more affluent sections of the city, and from what Zevran could judge the Watch had been restored to a respectable number. There were no signs of Orlesian soldiers or chevaliers; these had returned west some time ago, both at Anora's proclamation that Ferelden had regained enough strength at arms to stand on its own, and in order to fight the darkspawn threatening Orlais' south-eastern borders.

When they reached the palace and Asleena requested an audience with the queen, the chancellor (one Lord Uisdean) greeted them in an office off the main entrance hall.

"Warden Commander," he said, rising from his chair with a bow. Uisdean was an aging Ferelden gentleman with sharp blue eyes, and while he wore courtly attire there was also a serviceable sword at his side. "This is unexpected. May I offer you or your companions refreshments?"

"Wine, if it's not too much trouble," Asleena said, and glanced to the men flanking her. Xai shook his head, but Zevran indicated he would have a glass.

"Regretfully, Commander, Queen Anora is not in Denerim at this point in time," Uisdean said once servants had poured drinks. "After the attempt on her throne earlier this month, Ser Cauthrien thought it prudent to remove Her Majesty from the palace while those of us left here ensured no more…rebels had infiltrated the grounds. I do not know when she will return, but she left in the protection of Maric's Shield."

"I had hoped to discuss the coup, specifically Alistair's part in it," Asleena said. "I can secure several testimonies to his recent whereabouts and actions, from both Grey Wardens and the Teyrn of Highever, possibly even the Arl of West Hill if required."

"While I can see that the queen receives these testimonies, it will be her judgement on how to proceed with them," Uisdean replied.

"I don't have them written down," Asleena admitted. "I was hoping I could simply discuss the matter with the queen first. We have worked to agreements together in the past."

"I am aware, my lady. Unfortunately…" he shrugged. "I cannot say how long you may be waiting."

Zevran took a cautious sip of his wine while waiting for Asleena to compose a reply. To his surprise it actually tasted good, which probably meant it wasn't Ferelden. He wasn't a connoisseur, but he had enough experience with the finer luxuries of life that he could recognise swill when it touched his tongue.

"I'll be heading for Amaranthine tomorrow," Asleena said finally. "I may be there for a few days, so if Her Majesty returns in that time a messenger can be sent there to fetch me. Otherwise, you can send to Highever."

Uisdean wrote something down and nodded. "I will ensure she receives your words, my lady. Can I serve you in any other respect?"

"Are any Grey Wardens in the palace?"

"No, but there are still some of them in Denerim. They have a compound in the Market District, I believe?"

She nodded. "I know the way, thank you. Oh, and is there a stable in the city we can make use of?"

Fifteen minutes later they were outside again, the horses taken to some facilities on the palace grounds, and Asleena muttering about this portion of the trip being a waste of time.

"Maybe she will come looking for you," Zevran suggested with a grin. "The Queen of Ferelden visiting at Highever!"

"Maker, no. I can see the faces of Alistair and Fergus now," Asleena said, rolling her eyes. "She only tried to have one executed and the other…well. There would be all sorts of rumours started if Ferelden's most powerful and eligible woman visited my brother. I'm sure he'd be _thrilled._"

She turned to Xai. "You might as well see what you can sniff out now. Meet at the Grey Warden compound before dark. Remember the directions?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Good." Zevran found her green eyes upon him again. "You're welcome to come along with me or find something to entertain yourself for the rest of the day. I doubt talking about darkspawn will interest you much."

Zevran chuckled. "If you have no need of me, I may do some sneaking around of my own."

"By which you mean you're going to try to follow me," Xai observed.

Zevran didn't bother to deny it. "Let us see how good you are, hm?"

The master grinned and said, "_In bocca al lupo, _Zevran."

"_Crepi il lupo__, Xai," _Zevran replied, his answering grin just this side of predatory.

Asleena sighed. "Now they're talking Antivan. What was that? Threats? Chest-beating?"

"It loses something in translation to the King's Tongue, Commander, but I was wishing Zevran luck," Xai said. "Zevran's response was customary to the idiom."

She studied the two of them with a hard expression. As much as she'd told Zevran she didn't believe Xai ever directly lied to her, he suspected she didn't really believe the man always told her the full truth. Zevran certainly didn't, despite Xai's claims to the contrary.

The master's good luck wish was indeed an Antivan idiom, translating roughly to 'Into the wolf's mouth'. Zevran's response, customary just as Xai had said, came out as 'May the wolf choke on me.'

"If either of you turn up dead by tomorrow and there's no one else to blame," Asleena said, "I'll probably end up skinning the other. Understood?"

"Yes, Commander," Xai said, respectfully, while Zevran only continued to grin.

"I can think of worse fates than being turned into Antivan leather, my dear. Be a good friend and ensure I am fashioned into something pretty, hm?"

"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret this?" she muttered. "Go, then. And for Andraste's sake, be careful."

Xai inclined his head and set off at once, heading for a small crowd of people beyond the outer walls of the palace, the typical gathering of those who wanted to see whoever was in charge but didn't have an appointment or a legitimate grievance.

Asleena gave Zevran a final cautionary glance and he responded with a reassuring smile before setting off after his prey.

* * *

The first few streets were simple. The Palace District had straight avenues and walled estates, and Xai made no effort to conceal himself. Zevran followed at a distance, keeping an eye on his surroundings as well as the master. Once they reached one of the city's major roads, however, Xai picked up the pace and darted straight across into the section of city bordering the lower docks, a collection of rundown houses, warehouses and filthy alleys.

Zevran followed swiftly, barely getting out of the path of a wagon on his dash across the road, and causing its driver to shake an angry fist and shout something uncomplimentary about elves. He hesitated upon reaching the narrow street beyond, though, gazing at the grey, puddle-infested and rubbish-littered cobbles

It wouldn't be the first time he'd ventured into the poorer quarter of Denerim…in fact, last time he'd known Taliesen was out in force he'd come down here to follow the Wardens, but he hadn't been required to _run_ to track his quarry. Stealth was done best in a more careful fashion, and an armed elf travelling at speed in daylight through a rough part of town might not be wise. While he dearly wanted to pit his skills against a master assassin's, as well as discover what he could about the Crows' intentions, he didn't want to run headlong into a situation by being incautious.

Zevran hadn't lived this long by being _completely _reckless.

"_Brasca_," he swore softly, watching Xai disappear between two buildings.

* * *

"Hey! Hey, you! Wait!"

Zevran glanced back, keeping a hand near his belt dagger in case this was some kind of distraction. Even though he'd returned to the city as a recognised companion of the Hero of Ferelden, wandering alone in Denerim could present all sorts of wonderful opportunities for those who still wanted him dead.

He'd just passed through the Alienage en route to the Market District, and the woman who'd called and was chasing after him was plainly dressed, not armed in any obvious way, and elven. She was pretty of face and brown of eye, her hair fiery red and cut short above the shoulder. Normally Zevran would have paused to admire more than a woman's face and hair, but he realised he'd seen her before.

"You're one of the ones who was with the Grey Wardens, aren't you?" the woman demanded, slightly breathless after her run. "I remember seeing you in the Alienage before. You went against the slavers and fought during the siege."

"Indeed I did," Zevran agreed, examining her more closely. "Zevran Arainai at your service. And you, I believe, are that feisty minx who was shouting at the Tevinter slavers and defending the Alienage against darkspawn. Shianni, unless I am greatly mistaken." He gave her one of his winning smiles. "I never forget a face, especially a beautiful one such as yours."

"People say you were an assassin," Shianni said, completely ignoring the compliment.

"I still am, my dear," Zevran said, cocking his head slightly and raising a brow. "Were you looking to hire one, perchance?"

She hesitated, glancing around the street and the numerous bystanders, then nodded.

"Then perhaps we should retire to more suitable surrounds for discussing business."

"I can't afford to pay much," she muttered quietly. "I was hoping, we both being elves, you'd do it out of a sense of kinship."

Zevran chuckled and took a step back, shaking his head. "My dear, how would I make my way in the world if I did favours for every elf who asked, lovely though they may be?"

"During the Blight he kidnapped several women from the Alienage, who were raped by him and his…_friends_," Shianni whispered fiercely, almost spitting.

"Excuse me?"

"The man I want you to kill. He's a rapist. The human courts don't care…it's only a knife-ear's word against that of nobles, and I'm the only one left who's willing to speak. The other women are dead since the siege or carted off to Tevinter, like my cousin."

Zevran stared off at a distant building so he wouldn't be forced to look at the angry light in her eyes. Growing up in a whorehouse and then amongst assassins had familiarised him with a great number of unsavoury appetites possessed by the races of Thedas, and experience had taught him very early in life that it was usually wise to look the other way when something was happening he found distasteful. It wasn't an assassin's job to ask _why _a mark was wanted dead, though admittedly he'd liked to believe in the past that the people he'd killed had mostly deserved their fates.

Sticking one's neck out only led to trouble, and charity was for heroes. He was an assassin, not a crusader for the weak.

Still…the world would not miss one abusive human. And it would not hurt to have a favour to call upon if he ever needed to lay low in Denerim. Yes. A place to stay in case of an emergency would be a fair price, and then no one could say he was working gratis out of anything foolish like pity or a sense of justice.

"Who is this man you want dead?" he asked, expecting it to be some minor lordling who would prove ridiculously easy to cut the throat of and whom nobody would even care had turned up dead, including his relatives.

"The Arl of Denerim," Shianni said, still speaking as quietly as she could, though her voice was thick with hatred. "Arl Vaughan."

Zevran cocked his head, recognising the name. "A human about this tall, yes? Reddish blond hair, green eyes and a short beard? Unpleasant, slimy fellow?"

"You've met him?"

"Once, yes," Zevran said thoughtfully. "He called a friend of mine a fat whore."

This had been after Asleena decided to leave the human in the cell Rendon Howe had locked him in. Evidently Vaughan had been discovered before the siege, released, and had his father's estates restored to him.

"So you'll do it?" Shianni whispered hopefully, eyes wide and fixed on him.

Normally Zevran wouldn't have cared who his mark was, but being the companion of a woman who was attempting to restore some stability to Ferelden came with certain requirements. While he doubted Asleena would shed any tears for a dead rapist, if the murder was linked to her then it could get politically ugly. Alistair's name had already been attributed to the coup on the crown not even three weeks ago, what would happen if Asleena's was then connected to the death of Denerim's arl?

Someone was _always _watching, if not the Crows then another agent. Intelligence was an even larger game than assassination.

"This friend of mine," Zevran said, "the Warden Commander, is a human noble herself with the ear of the queen. I suggest you come with me and speak with her. She has been doing marvellous things for the Alienage in Highever, and I assure you, my dear, that she will listen. She has a soft spot for justice."

_And she has a friend who has been abused_, he added silently.

"She's the same shem who also helped with the slavers and siege, right? And who rescued Soris?" Shianni nodded. "I remember her. Did she like that ring I gave her?"

"Actually…" Zevran grinned and removed a glove, displaying the luminous band of topaz, Dawn, that encircled one of his fingers. It's amethyst sister, Dusk, was on his other hand, but Zevran was particularly fond of Dawn for its lustrous honey colour. "I hope this does not displease you?"

"Why would it?" Shianni asked, seeming quite pleased. "You helped as well. So where's your Warden friend? Should I wait in the Alienage?" she added with a distrustful glance into the human-thronged district of stalls and shops.

"No, no, you will be safe with me, I assure you." Zevran pulled the glove back on and extended a hand to gesture gallantly ahead. "Come."


	4. City Elves and Noble Humans

"You call that _justice_, shem?" Shianni stormed. "The queen feels obligated to restore that bastard Vaughan's title because Howe deposed him under her father's nose, but not hold him responsible for his own crimes?"

Zevran winced and was taken by a strong urge to step back from the two women, just in case Asleena responded in kind. One thing he had never witnessed, and he hoped he'd never be so unfortunate, was the Warden Commander in a towering rage. In his personal experience, aside from the occasional slip that usually involved a confrontation with someone she was close to, she had a tendency to retain calm and bite her tongue when angered.

In another corner of the barracks-style building, three human Wardens were grouped together. Two of the men were talking, but a third was observing the Commander.

"I don't call it justice at all," Asleena was saying, her voice and face sympathetic. "It's unfair. The laws in Denerim afford common folk little protection, especially when they're elves, and if Vaughan is Denerim's arl then he not only controls the garrison but officiates over trials that aren't capital offences."

"Abduction and _rape _aren't capital offences?" Shianni spat.

"I mean things like treason, Shianni," Asleena said gently. "Offences against the crown."

"So even something like murder is fine so long as the person who died isn't important, or _human_." Shianni raked a hand through her close-cropped red hair. "You can't tell me there's nothing that can be done to make that bastard pay, Warden.

"Come on," she urged when Asleena looked like she was hesitating. "You went up against the most powerful man in Ferelden and you _won_. There has to be a way to put a stop to a little weasel like Vaughan!"

"Loghain managed to step on the toes of a lot of powerful people, including the Chantry, Shianni," Zevran put in. "There was plenty of evidence, and even highborn victims to speak against him."

"Whose side are you on?" Shianni snapped at him.

Zevran raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Yours, my dear, but you must understand—"

"I understand plenty!" the elven woman cut across him angrily. "I understand that people like us are _nothing_. Had Vaughan killed someone's mabari warhound it'd cause more of an uproar to humans than an elf suffering the same. If _we _so much as killed in simple self-defence an angry mob would be burning our houses down!"

Zevran said nothing, glancing instead to Asleena, and he was familiar enough with the woman to know she was frustrated. In Highever she could have done something via her brother, but Denerim was beyond the influence of the Cousland family. A moral injustice committed by the lord of any city was unlikely to be tried without someone at least equally powerful backing the victim.

"Were there any human witnesses?" Asleena asked finally.

"Besides Vaughan himself, two of his friends and his shem guards?" Shianni shrugged. "Mother Boann saw them take us from the Alienage, even tried to intercede, but I haven't seen her since that day. She might have died in the war, I don't know."

"Vaughan practically admitted once, in my presence, that he had raped elven women," Asleena began.

"And you didn't just gut him where he stood for that?" Shianni flared.

"No, but as I doubt you'd think any reasons I gave would be good enough, I won't explain them," the Warden replied, and there was a warning in her voice that made the shorter woman back down some.

Asleena continued. "I have the power to mention this matter to the queen when she returns to the city. There is no guarantee it would concern her, but you have my word I would do what I can to make her listen.

"Alternately I can attempt to confront the arl himself. Given what little I know of the man, I doubt he will change his ways at my request when I left him locked in his own dungeon. It might make things worse for you."

Shianni shook her head quickly. "Andraste's Ass, don't go to _Vaughan _about this."

"Asleena," Zevran interrupted. "A word, if I may?"

She followed him to a quiet corner. "Yes?"

"There is the option of dealing with this Vaughan through more pointed means," the assassin said delicately.

She studied him for a long, silent moment, and her voice was quiet when she replied. "Some people simply need killing?"

"Do you disagree?"

They looked at Shianni standing alone in the centre of the room, and Zevran saw the young woman was also under the scrutiny of two of the male Wardens beyond. The elf's arms were folded and she was defiantly ignoring the human men, as though their attention was beneath her notice and not crawling under her skin.

Zevran returned his gaze to Asleena, knowing that if he could convince her, if he got her permission, he would murder Vaughan without a second thought for consequences.

"If you came across a man forcing himself upon an unwilling victim," the Antivan pressed in an undertone, "you would deal with him yourself, no? No matter the local laws?"

Her expression hardened and he knew instantly he had both scored and lost points for that observation.

"Why are you so interested in this case, Zev?" Asleena inquired, her voice just as soft but her green eyes piercing. "Why do you want to help her so much?"

Zevran blinked at her, the questions taking him by surprise, but not nearly so much as the answer that popped out of his own mouth.

"Because it…because it is it is what we _do_, yes? The murdering of villains and the helping of innocents?"

She studied him for a disconcerting moment longer and then, incredibly, grinned. "So it would seem," she murmured, but then her face clouded again. "The problem with murdering villains in the shadows is that no one knows _why_, Zev. Nothing changes for the elves except who's in control, and Vaughan's successor might be worse than he is…it could be another Rendon Howe for all we know. I would rather change the situation, the laws, than merely who Denerim's arl is."

"This is not Highever, Asleena," Zevran reminded her. "You yourself just said there is little you can do here."

"Anora still owes me a boon. I could do a lot."

Zevran hesitated. "Are you sure about using that, my friend? An open promise from the Queen of Ferelden is…not something to spend lightly."

"That's why I'm going to get as much out of it as I possibly can," she said, and Zevran narrowed his eyes slightly at the offhandedness in her tone. That boon could be used to save anyone she loved. With suspicions cast on Alistair for his possible association in the coup, Asleena could use that boon to protect him if it became necessary, just as she had used her first one to spare him execution at the Landsmeet.

He suspected she was thinking exactly the same thing, and stamping down her reservations in favour of 'the many'.

"Alistair—" he began.

"—will be safe," she interjected immediately, proving the assassin right.

Zevran cocked his head. "You don't know that, my dear. Whoever borrowed his name did it for a reason, and that could be getting your fellow Grey Warden killed as much as crowned."

"We'll deal with that as it comes," she told him. "Alistair currently has enough protection, and he can take care of himself. For now, I'm concerned with the Denerim Alienage. Plus," she added with a small smile, "Anora may yet listen without me needing to play my trump."

"It is your call, of course. Personally I prefer the idea of slitting the man's throat, but"—Zevran grinned here—"public hangings have their charm, no?" He chuckled when she made a face. "Well, then, does this mean we are staying in Denerim until Her Majesty returns?"

"I can't," Asleena said. "There's a recruit here from Vigil's Keep who was sent to fetch me to Amaranthine at once. Another Warden was apparently sent to Highever as well in case I was still there.

"I want you to stay here in Denerim with Xai—"

"What?" Zevran protested.

"—until Anora returns, at which point you can give her a letter I'll draft tonight. After that you can rejoin me in Amaranthine, return to Highever or choose your own path."

Zevran realised his mouth was hanging open and shut it, but he continued to stare at her as a horrible feeling settled in his heart. Was she trying to get rid of him all of a sudden? "You present me with…choices? Asleena…why do you think I would not choose to continue fighting at your side?"

"Because you might find something else to fight for." She grinned reassuringly. "You never know."

Zevran doubted it, but let it pass. "As you wish, but…_Xai_? Come now, Asleena…I cannot abide the man."

Before Asleena could reply, Shianni interrupted with: "Um…hello? Elven girl standing all alone waiting to hear what's going on?"

Giving Zevran a tight smile, Asleena led the way back to their guest and said, "Sorry about that. We've got good news."

Shianni's look was sceptical. "Yes?"

"For now, I guarantee the queen will do something about Vaughan."

"But before you said—"

"The rules have changed," Asleena interrupted cheerfully, and Zevran had to shake his head a bit. The woman always seemed to _enjoy _this so much, this simple matter of giving people good news. "Basically, the queen owes me a big favour, so if she won't listen then I intend to collect."

"Well…thanks," Shianni said, "but if it's all the same I'll save the cheering until something actually _happens_. I mean, not that I'm not grateful for what you've done in the past—" she added hastily.

"I understand. In any case, until Anora returns to Denerim we'll have to wait." Asleena gestured to Zevran. "I'll leave some letters with Zev to give to her when that happens, and if you wouldn't mind going with him…"

"Me? See the queen?" Shianni's shock gave way to disbelieving laughter. "Oh, Maker, that might not be a good idea. There are _so many things _I want to tell that woman, I know I'd just mess everything up."

Asleena was grinning. "Trust me, you'll want to be there."

"You have something up that armoured sleeve of yours, my dear," Zevran accused, eyeing his friend suspiciously. "And it is more than a shapely arm, I wager."

The Warden Commander's grin widened to an obvious smirk. "I wouldn't want to spoil it. On that note, I have some writing to do and unfinished Grey Warden business to attend. Can you see Shianni back into the Alienage or wherever she wishes to go, Zev?"

"It would be my pleasure, if the lady requires such?" Zevran glanced at the elven woman, who nodded.

"That might not be a bad idea. Thank you." Shianni made to starts towards the door, halted, then gave Asleena an awkward, apologetic smile. "And…ah…sorry for all the yelling before."

Asleena smiled back and nodded, then raised a brow at Zevran as he levelled a finger at her.

"We will discuss this matter of Xai later," he said.

"Later," she agreed with a nod.

* * *

"Well," Shianni said when they stopped outside a modest abode, "this is it."

Zevran had been into a few alienages in his lifetime, but usually only while passing through on business. He found them rather depressing really…large filthy cages for the most part, slums in which elves had been made to believe they were safer than anywhere else they might go. Visiting one sometimes made him deem himself fortunate for having been raised in a whorehouse and then further up as a Crow, for _his _cage had been quite different. _Better_, he tended to think. He'd been an elf, but being a Crow superseded that. People looked past the pointed ears to the tattoos and blades, then positively _cringed _to avoid giving offence (at least in Antiva). He'd had to follow orders, even the ones he'd have preferred not to, he'd had to abide by rules, but few people outside the guild would ever have dared to cross his path.

But…his concepts of family and friendship had been stilted in that life. After associating with the Cousland siblings and the companions who had remained in Highever, he knew that neither the House of Crows nor the brothel he'd been born in had been _home _as the word was meant to be used.

Wondering if he'd have been happier growing up in a communal gutter like _this _made alienages depressing for an entirely different reason.

He shrugged these thoughts off. He was who he was, there was no going back and little point to wondering what might have been. All he could do was make the most of what he had.

"You should come in and have a drink," Shianni went on, pushing the simple wooden door open. "Least I could offer."

"That is generous of you," Zevran said, trying not to dwell on the quality of beverages a place like this could afford. "My presence seems to be drawing some attention from the locals, however."

Shianni looked in the direction he nodded. Several elves standing in the late afternoon sunlight were watching them with open frowns. "Ignore them," she said. "It's me they're scowling at. I'm a troublemaker," she finished with a twisted grin. "Look at Shianni, bringing a tattooed and armed elf home! Whatever will the neighbours think?"

"Ah…" Zevran grinned and tried a careful probe of a question. "You have company often, then?"

The woman scoffed and went inside, holding the door for him. "No, I just stir up trouble often. Hitting noblemen across the head with bottles, yelling abuse at blood mages, talking people into picking up illegal weaponry to defend ourselves against darkspawn, and let's not forget trying to raise a protest rally against Vaughan being recognised as our arl. Inviting an outsider for a friendly drink is just the next in a growing list of mistakes that'll bring doom upon the Alienage."

The Antivan chuckled as he followed her over the threshold, noting the complete lack of any intimate overtones in Shianni's offer. He could respect that, but it was the first time he could ever remember a young woman inviting him into her home for nothing more than a drink. If it looked like this could develop into a night of intoxication and intercourse then certain boundaries would have to be established while she was still sober…namely which ones he would be unwelcome to cross.

"I have been labelled trouble myself, in truth," he said, glancing around at his surrounds and almost unconsciously noting optimal hiding places and avenues of escape. "But, in my experience, a little trouble can be fun, no?"

"Your experiences must be better than mine," Shianni replied. Crossing to a wooden table she crouched to drag out a crate from beneath and rummage through the contents—bottles from the sound of it.

Hearing the slight edge to the young woman's voice, Zevran put a smile into his voice. "Oh? Then I shall endeavour to make this…'drinking with a tattooed and armed elf' the enjoyable kind of trouble."

"Good." Shianni grinned at him as she emerged with two dark bottles, which she placed atop the table. Kicking one chair out and motioning to it, she sank into the other. "I should warn you that this stuff is rumoured to put hair even on elven chests. I know a guy who brews the stuff…completely illicit of course."

Zevran claimed the other chair, sneaking a look into the crate while he did so and noting the number of empty bottles. "Do you live alone?" he asked. "You have family, yes?"

"Just my brother Soris. We both live here." Shianni glanced around as she took a long pull from the bottle. "This used to be my Uncle Cyrion's house, but after the Tevinter slavers took him and my cousin—his daughter—Ciela…" She shrugged a shoulder. "Are there slaves in Antiva?"

"Indeed there are. I was sold on the block when I was seven years old." Zevran grinned at Shianni's shocked expression. "The Crows bought me, and now here I am."

"Weren't they angry when you escaped?"

He laughed. "Oh yes. Yes. Angry enough to try and kill me at least three times, I think?"

"But how did you manage it?" she asked, leaning eagerly across the table.

"Well, now, that is quite a story." Zevran grinned, picking his bottle up. "To be completely honest, I was not trying to escape at the time. I had become used to being a Crow you see…I even enjoyed some of the benefits it afforded me. But my last contract was…a dangerous one. I knew when I took it that there was little chance of success or survival."

"You thought you'd die? Why do it then? Did you have no choice?"

Zevran paused, sighed inwardly as he considered the full truth, and managed an almost natural-sounding chuckle upon deciding against it. "You must understand that when I was a Crow I had a habit of bidding for risky marks. I built my reputation on taking down difficult targets…but my luck was not to last. Or it changed, depending on how you look at it.

"My final mission involved killing two Grey Wardens, the only two known to have survived the slaughter at Ostagar, and one of them was Asleena." He made a small motion with his right hand. "As you may have guessed having spoken to her today, I failed."

"But…you're still alive," Shianni said, looking confused. "You're an elf and an assassin, she's a human and you were trying to kill her. So why are you still alive?"

"No one was more surprised than me, I assure you. I survived the fight and they bound me while I was unconscious, then questioned me as to who had put the contract on their lives—Loghain and Howe, in case you didn't know. Afterwards, I promised Asleena that if she spared my life I would serve her instead in whatever capacity she desired."

Shianni immediately bristled. "What? So you're _her _slave now?"

That got a more genuine laugh out of him. "At first I expected such might be the case. I swore myself to her, you see, and said I would do anything from polishing her armour to warming her bed, but alas...it was not to be."

"You sound disappointed."

"Maybe I am!" He laughed again. "You saw her, yes? She is beautiful, she is strong, and she is…a good friend to me." Zevran stopped suddenly and frowned at the bottle in his hands. He hadn't taken one sip and here he was talking a little too freely. Maybe he'd been associating with people he trusted for too long. "But to answer your question," he said, back-peddling, "I am not her slave and she never treated me like one. When the Crows came to take me back, we fought them together."

Shianni mulled on this for a moment before reaching across with her bottle. "Thank the Maker for the few good ones out there."

"Truly," he agreed, clinking his drink against hers before lifting it to his lips. "_Salute._"

He took a deep swig only to discover the alcohol was a good deal more _robust_ than he'd been expecting, having watched the way Shianni was drinking it like cider. Liquor sprayed across the table in a great cloud, then Zevran was coughing uncontrollably.

"Maker's Breath," he croaked, wiping his mouth as Shianni roared with laughter. "This is _horrible_, woman. Did your friend brew it in a horse trough?"

"I did warn you!"

"I may have to keep the rest," he apologised, sealing the bottle and still trying to get his voice back. "I know a certain dwarf who may offer to bear my children for a treat such as this."

Shianni grinned. "You're welcome to it. I hope she enjoys it!"

Zevran sniggered a bit and decided not to correct the pronoun.

* * *

An hour or so later, Shianni had her head laid down on her folded arms and was snoring gently.

Zevran leaned back in his chair and tried to figure out whether he should leave her as she was, which would result in an incredibly uncomfortable neck when she woke, or carry her to one of the two beds he'd noticed in the small house. He'd prefer the latter, but it risked awkwardness if she regained consciousness while he was assisting.

He was spared a decision when he heard a noise from the front door. One hand flew quickly to a blade in his belt, but the portal opened before he could make any other move.

The plainly-clothed elven man who entered had darker hair than Shianni and blue eyes instead of brown, and he went stone still when he noticed Zevran sitting at the table with his unconscious? dead? sister.

"What—" Soris began, eyes widening as they went from Zevran's face to the hilts peeking above either shoulder.

Zevran _very carefully_ moved his hand away from his belt dagger. "Zevran Arainai," the Antivan introduced himself smoothly. "We have met, Soris. I was merely keeping an eye upon your sister here." He flicked a finger against his bottle of homebrew for emphasis.

"Well if you're done watching her drink herself into a stupor," Soris replied, his tone flat and unfriendly, "maybe you should leave. As in now. We don't want any trouble here."

"I see. Well, let it not be said that Zevran lingers where he is not wanted." The assassin rose, taking care to look unthreatening as he crossed to the open door and stepped outside into the dusk.

"What set her off?" Soris asked from behind him.

"Excuse me?"

"What were you talking about? Your mothers? Vaughan? Slavers? Uncle Cyrion and Ciela?"

Zevran hesitated. He was fairly certain _all _of those had been mentioned with the exception of the first, but he said, "Vaughan. She has convinced the Warden Commander to speak with Queen Anora about him."

"She has?" Soris looked surprised, glancing back at the figure slumped in her chair.

"Indeed, yes. I was asked to escort her home and she invited me in for a drink."

"Don't…judge her from this," Soris muttered. "She was getting better until they made him arl. I've been trying to convince her go to Highever with me, things are meant to be better up there, but she just says that leaving means Vaughan wins." He shook his head in disgust, looking bitter. "Like it's a game."

"I have every intention to see that it's a game she wins," Zevran said. "One way or another."

Soris' eyes flickered to the assassin's blades again and narrowed. "I've heard stories about you."

"Yes, they do seem to be circulating. They sound intriguing if you ask me."

"They say you kill people, rob them and have…have sex with them."

"In a different order usually, and sometimes completely disconnected with each other, but broadly true, yes," Zevran replied, but he could tell this conversation was not going in a good direction.

"We don't need any humans killed," Soris said, lowering his voice. "So whatever you meant with that 'one way or another' remark, just forget it. Please."

"_You_ don't want him dead?"

"Of course I do, but if an _elf _is blamed for it—which is exactly what will happen if no one admits they were the killer—then we'll all suffer! It's happened before and it'll happen again." Soris' eyes slid away and Zevran followed his gaze to a small patrol of Denerim guards walking through the Alienage, heading in their direction but not seemingly aware of them yet.

"Just go," Soris muttered. "I hope you have a way to explain your sword. We're not allowed to own weapons, let alone bear them."

As soon as the door closed, Zevran slid carefully into the shadows. The setting sun made the vhenadahl growing from the Alienage's centre appear even larger than it was, oddly-coloured and strangely ominous. The human guards clanked past, heading south towards the bridge that spanned the Drakon River, and Zevran quickly headed the other way, eager to leave this strange, unhappy place.


	5. An Assassin's Life

_Author's Note: Many apologies for the delay. RL issues and a spell of not wanting to write, I'm afraid. But I have something cool for you (as well as a new chapter :p)... _The Hunt _was recently mentioned in the latest issue (181) of Australia's gaming magazine PC Powerplay. If you're local and manage to grab a copy, you'll also find a cool piece of arwork drawn by Aimo! There is a link to the picture in her DeviantArt page in my Profile_, _and you should be able to guess what chapter it's based off. ;) Enjoy!_

* * *

Xai Merras was in the Grey Warden compound by the time Zevran returned, and he was the only one in the main room.

The former master had his swords drawn and had apparently been making use of the floor space to go through some forms before Zevran made his appearance, but he stopped when the elven assassin crossed the threshold, swords crossed and lowering.

The weapons were identical as far as Zevran could tell; Imperium renditions of the qunari saw sword, called an 'Imperial Edge' in Tevinter. They were curious-looking weapons, unwieldy in Zevran's opinion, slender a quarter of the way from the hilt before flaring out into a curved, wider shape along one edge. The opposite side was serrated for almost the entire length, stopping short of the beak-like point. Even the grip was unusually shaped; bent back to echo the curvature of the blade.

Crows tended towards guild-issued weapons and armour for the most part, but, as there were those who earned wealth enough to buy their own custom equipment, splurging on exotic weapons or superior Antivan leather was not unheard of. For all the contracts Zevran had fulfilled, he had never managed to spend his gold on anything more lasting than boots. Most of his gold had gone towards fleeting pleasures, good food, fine wines and beautiful whores the Guild would never be so generous as to provide. Things you experienced rather than owned.

"I do not understand why you are so secretive about your stances," Zevran remarked when Xai gave him a strangely hesitant look. "As you have taken such pleasure reminding me in the past, we are on the same side, no?"

"And if you believe that," Xai said, "you will make yourself scarce." He made a small motion with his head towards a door on the other side of the room, behind himself, but his eyes never left Zevran's. "The Commander has guests. Crows."

Zevran gave a casual shrug. "Is this reason for concern? If they try anything—"

At that moment the door opened and three human men emerged. They moved to flank Xai, every sharp eye on Zevran, but _his_ attention went straight to the senior assassin and it suddenly felt like the world was crystallising around him.

There was more grey in the master's brown hair and beard, giving it the appearance of rust-streaked iron, more lines in his tattooed and tanned face, but the pale green eyes were the same. The smile was the same…

* * *

"_You seem to have returned from your mission one less hand than you departed…"_

"_Rinna didn't make it, master," Taliesen said when Zevran utterly failed to respond. As the leader, as the one who had been granted the contract, it _should _have been the elf's duty to reply. Indeed, Zevran should have been all but gloating about his success at killing such a difficult mark. Everyone knew the contract had been granted with the intent of knocking him down a peg or two, if not killing him._

_It seemed to have knocked him flat._

"_No matter," the master said with a thin-lipped smile. "She can be replaced easily enough." He stood before them, eyes shifting from human to elf and back again. "What went amiss?"_

"_Just a stupid mistake, ser," Taliesen said with a shake of his head. He kept his gaze respectfully lowered. "The girl wasn't experienced enough. She underestimated the guards and—"_

_The master's fist, ringed with bronze as it emerged from his robe, swished towards Taliesen's jaw. There was a crunch and a sharp grunt of commingled surprise and pain, then a second fist slammed into Taliesen's gut and a knee met his face as he doubled up._

_Zevran stood rigidly immobile as his companion hit the floor backwards, bleeding and barely succeeding at not making a noise through his agony._

_The master pulled off the knuckleduster and massaged his hand with a thoughtful air. "I don't appreciate deception," he said in mild tones, "especially when it's ineptly delivered, Taliesen. Lying is an art, you see, and it _pains _me to see it done so poorly._

"_The Crows know you killed Rinna. We know the why, we know the where. We even know about your fond farewell." This he said while standing directly before Zevran. "Lift your face, assassin. I wish to see it as I speak. Poets say that eyes are the windows to the soul."_

_Golden-brown eyes, carefully empty of emotion, met those the shade of new spring grass._

"_We know, Zevran," he said, "and we don't care. Rinna served her purpose; you will keep serving yours until _your _time comes. It's as simple as that."_

_And there they were. The words that brought his fanciful beliefs that skill and prowess were a measure of his worth as an assassin down around his ears. He had thought for so long that his many successes made him more valuable to the House of Crows, that being the best_ meant_ something…but it was not so. He was nothing. He could be replaced, just as she would be, and the Crows would shed as many tears over his corpse as he had for Rinna's._

_None._

"_Congratulations, by the way, on the success of your mission," the master added, staring unblinkingly into Zevran's eyes and smiling as though he could see a light there, somewhere in the golden depths, flicker and die._

_

* * *

_

"Master Dario," Xai said in a smoothly unconcerned voice, "you do, of course, remember Zevran Arainai?"

"Mm. Yes. The walking corpse himself." Green eyes studied the elf briefly, then dismissed him. "Fascinating, Merras, but if you've seen one dead elf you've seen them all. He's not my problem unless the House says otherwise."

Zevran's interruption was as quiet as the sound of his blades sliding into his hands. "What if I _make _myself your problem?"

"Ah." A flash of teeth showed in Dario's beard. "Then, naturally, I will see you split up the middle."

"You planted the lies that led to Rinna's death," Zevran accused. "You meant for Taliesen and I to kill her."

Dario stared at him for a second before laughing. "Whoreson, you imagine an importance in your dear dead paramour that simply never existed! Why in the world would I set up a nobody if I wasn't getting paid?"

"For twisted amusement, no doubt," Zevran countered, but his eyes flicked to Xai as he spoke. "I was informed…she was a test."

"Informed? Enlighten me, please. I do so love a good lie."

"Killing Rinna was to have hardened my character…or broken it." Zevran was oblivious to Master Dario's grin now, staring fixedly at Xai who was looking straight back at him without expression. Uncertainty gnawed…he had been so quick to believe the man's words when he'd spoken them in Markham City. They had fit. They had given him an excuse to believe he wasn't fully responsible. They had given him someone to blame.

"Zevran…" Dario's voice could have come from another world, "someone has been slipping you gilt disguised as gold, and with great success. This seems to have become a distressing habit of yours, just _believing _what you're fed without looking into the matter. That might get someone killed one day, wouldn't you agree, Xai?"

The room fell silent. It wasn't lost on _any _of the assassins that Zevran and Xai alone had their weapons unsheathed and were watching each other like wolves with bared fangs.

Master Dario approached Zevran with his hands held out from his sides, away from his weapons, then patted him on the shoulder a couple of times. "Just so you know," he said in a confidential undertone, "my coin's on you."

The Crows departed.

"I cannot say I'm surprised," Zevran said, finding his voice at last. His fingers twitched around the hilts of his weapons. "Well, surprised at _myself_, perhaps. But do tell me why. What purpose?"

Xai's brows lifted. There was a subtle hiss of silverite as his blades scraped against each other. "Twisted amusement?"

"At least you are not denying it."

There was a creak of floorboards then and a clink of armour. Asleena emerged from the doorway behind Xai—he had to turn and expose his back to Zevran in order to see her, and she leaned against the frame with her arms folded. "The truth, please," she said softly to the former master.

"My intent was to remove Zevran from your side, Commander," Xai replied promptly, without a hint of apology in his voice. "I believed the Crows would follow his trail or lie in ambush at Starkhaven, which might have endangered you if you travelled together. Tricking him to leave for Antiva would have removed the threat."

"What if I had gone with him to Antiva?" Asleena asked.

"I felt such an option unlikely while you were pursuing Alistair. Furthermore, you had spared me in Markham after I'd manipulating Taelin's death, so why go with Zevran to kill someone else for a similar crime?"

Zevran met Asleena's eyes when she didn't reply. "And you wish him to remain with me in Denerim?" he asked pointedly.

"With respect," Xai said, "I have not attempted anything which might lead to Zevran's physical harm since you ordered me not to, Commander. My deception was made many months ago, in another country."

"Yet never corrected until now," Zevran noted.

"You would have had no reason to believe me if I told you I'd been lying, Zevran," the other man said with a shrug. "Anyway, I did not think it would matter to stay silent. You never showed any intention of leaving Highever in pursuit of vengeance."

Asleena sighed and rubbed her eyes with a thumb and forefinger, muttering something Zevran didn't catch. "Xai," she said, "get something to eat from the larder and find a spare bed; I'll talk to you in the morning. Zev, come with me, please."

Xai bowed and left without further comment, leaving Zevran to accompany Asleena down the wooden passage to an office-like room. There was a rather simple wooden desk and chair, a shelf of books and a few paintings, but the overall effect was severe. The Grey Wardens clearly hadn't had luxury in mind when they'd furnished the place.

Zevran found himself wondering how uncomfortable the beds would turn out to be.

"Are you all right?" was the first thing Asleena asked, turning to face him.

"I…yes. Thank you." Zevran managed a smile. "Seeing Master Dario was simply unexpected. I did not realise how much I still wanted to kill him until just now."

She nodded. "Rinna?"

Zevran shrugged, uncomfortable. He had stopped berating himself so much for those events a long time ago now, no small part thanks to Asleena. The past was done and, while he might never forget, it would not dictate the man he was or stop him from living his life.

But sometimes… it still hurt to be reminded. The wound still twinged if prodded.

"Can you blame me for desiring to spill blood, my friend?"

"No. Of course not. Maker, if Howe was still alive…" She sat on the edge of the desk. It creaked under the weight of her armour and she stood up again with a distracted and faintly worried look that had nothing to do with concern for the furniture.

The assassin cocked his head at her. "Are you worried about going to Amaranthine, my dear?" he asked shrewdly. "You have yet to speak to the late arl's children about his death, am I correct?"

"Got it in one guess, Zev," she muttered. "Thomas and Delilah. If you wanted to cut up Dario, what will Rendon Howe's children feel towards me?"

"I wish you would let me go with you," Zevran said. "Xai and the other Wardens can see your letters to Anora. I need not stay here."

"Shianni came to you first, Zev, not me," Asleena reminded him.

He snorted inelegantly. "She wished to hire me as an assassin, not a courier."

Her lips quirked into a smile. "You were the one who turned down her contract, weren't you?" Then she laughed at the disgusted look he gave her. "Sorry, Zev, I'm sorry. I don't mean to imply you should have done as she asked. I'm glad you came to me. But I'm serious about her going to _you_. It would be appropriate for you to see it through as far as possible, don't you think?"

"What if the Crows stir up trouble?"

"Master Dario assured me that he had no interest in killing you, me, Alistair or Xai, but he wouldn't say if anyone else was currently after our blood." She spread her hands. "If you can believe him. He wasn't the one who took the Grey Warden contract though, was he?"

Zevran shook his head. "No, but that does not mean he couldn't be persuaded to assist in the matter."

"Well, I gave him something to think about that might convince him not to," Asleena said, smiling again. "I offered to pay him for any evidence he can dig up on the coup, whether that be written material or conspirators."

"You _offered _to pay him?" Zevran repeated. "They did not demand payment up front?"

"Dario said the price will all depend on what he finds."

"I cannot say I like the sound of that, my dear."

"I made it clear he could ask for gold, jewels, relics I still have lying around, but not services and _definitely _not lives. Besides, I can always say no if I don't like what I hear…or hand it to Anora. She's richer than me."

Zevran said nothing for a moment, then nodded to her. "I will see if I can find any leads myself while I am here. I might as well do something useful, no?"

"Please stop looking so grim, Zev. Just because we're parting company for a little while doesn't mean I'll go falling into a broodmother nest at the earliest opportunity, or get ambushed by assassins. I'll be in a keep full of Grey Wardens and well protected."

"Do not say 'what could go wrong?'" Zevran advised drily, turning for the door. "Something _always _goes wrong when someone says that."

* * *

Zevran and Xai accompanied Asleena and the Warden recruit from Amaranthine to the palace the next morning. Zevran didn't catch the young woman's name, but took his customary time to appraise her while she spoke freely with Xai about her soldiering days and how she looked forward to her Joining. She was of a height with the Warden Commander, human, armed with a sword and shield and garbed in red steel plate. Blue eyes, short black hair and a pretty nose completed the picture.

He didn't bother to listen to what they were saying, half of his attention on the rooftops and alleys while the rest of him was lost in contemplation. Being in Denerim for a while wouldn't be so bad, he thought, but leaving Asleena to ride off with some unknown Ferelden soldier…

_Listen to me. Zevran Arainai, the great Antivan nursemaid. The first thing I must do when she rides from Denerim is visit The Pearl to enjoy myself for a while. No darkspawn, no Wardens._

"And you, ser?" the recruit said suddenly to Zevran, bringing him back to the present while Xai looked on. "I have heard tales of you fighting at the sides of the Wardens during the Blight. How is it that you never formally joined their ranks?"

"Oh, I have been around them long enough to know their life is not mine," Zevran replied easily.

Her brow furrowed. "But you're still with them now. How would life be any different as a Warden?"

Zevran responded with a chuckle. "Perhaps you will understand after your Joining, my dear, and then we can discuss the matter further."

"I'll look forward to it, ser." She returned to her discussion with Xai, and Zevran slanted a look at Asleena, who was walking beside him.

"What do you think?" he asked quietly.

Asleena shook her head. "I don't know," she murmured. "There's supposed to be some sense on who has a good chance of surviving the Joining, but I haven't seen enough of them to get a feel for it. I don't know if she'll live. I don't know if _you'd _live."

"Another reason not to sign up, hm?"

"Would it be so terrible, being a Warden?"

"My prospects for old age are slim enough being a renegade Crow," Zevran pointed out with a grin. "Best not to stack the odds too heavily against myself. I like living, and intend to keep doing so for as long as I can. Besides, I am doing just fine as I am, no?"

She grinned. "There is that."

Grooms brought out Asleena's charger and a serviceable mount for the recruit, who mounted without too much difficulty. Before following suit, the Commander turned to her companions and brought out a scroll case bearing the Cousland family insignia.

"This is for the queen," she instructed, handing it to Zevran. "Deliver it personally. Court intrigue as it is, don't let anyone else touch it."

Zevran took it, bowed low and smirked. "If I need to slip into the royal bedchamber itself to achieve this task, so it shall be."

"Zevran, I'd think twice about trying to seduce Anora."

"As would I, my dear. Three times, even."

She shook her head and turned her attention to Xai. "Remember what we discussed," was all she said, and the former master inclined his head.

"Yes, Commander. I'll be seeing you in Amaranthine."

"Watch your backs, and please look out for each other. The other Wardens here may be able to help if something bad happens." Asleena looked at Zevran again, for slightly too long considering she didn't say anything further, he thought, then she gave him a little nod and quickly turned to her stallion.

Zevran too remained silent. He wanted to give some sort of farewell to her, but any words he conjured in his mind felt too private to say aloud in company no matter how simple the sentiment. As comfortable as he'd become expressing certain things to people he trusted, he was still rarely open with emotions he would have once called soft, weak or _wrong_.

But she knew that…

Then Asleena Cousland, Commander of the Grey, was riding out the gates of the palace with her Warden recruit in tow.

And, as Zevran watched without words, she was gone.

* * *

Almost precisely one hour later, Queen Anora and her entourage were seen coming back into Denerim.


	6. The Boon

Zevran, Xai and Shianni stood in a well-appointed chamber that connected to the throne room, watching as Anora read over the parchments. The Queen of Ferelden didn't look any different to when Zevran had last seen her; she still wore her blonde hair braided and pinned to the back of her head, and for all that she'd been out of the city for the past several days there was not a single strand out of place and her clothes were fresh and clean. Her maids must have pounced upon her as soon as she entered the palace. She looked every inch regal, confident, and unflappable.

Yet she paced as she perused the Warden Commander's missive, and there was a small frown wrinkling her brow. When she shuffled one page aside to read the next, she glanced at the three guests in a measuring fashion.

Lord Uisdean was in attendance, along with Ser Cauthrien and a number of guards. All were silent as their queen read, and the only sounds came from the adjoining corridor as the rest of the palace went on with day-to-day affairs.

"Do you know what this says?" Anora asked Xai at last, her blue eyes settling on him. It was no wonder that she chose to address her words to the human, Zevran thought with an inner shrug. Xai was also a Grey Warden, and _he_ hadn't been hired by her father to kill the Hero of Ferelden.

"Your Majesty," came the respectful reply. "She mentioned writing of the coup to me, and some affair concerning the alienage, but otherwise no."

Anora took one of the papers and folded it, smoothing the single long crease with a compression of her thumb and forefinger, then tore it cleanly down the centre. "Well," she said, "your Commander may be surprising more than myself this day, Warden."

Zevran barely managed to keep his brows from arching, while Shianni fidgeted at his side. Anora sounded less than pleased, her voice clipped and cold. He began to wonder exactly how diplomatically Asleena had phrased her boon request.

"She wishes the lot of the elves improved," the queen went on, examining Zevran and Shianni now, as though expecting this was all their fault by dint of their presence and species. "And there are certain allegations against the Arl of Denerim she wants addressed." She focussed directly on Shianni at the last, her expression neither cold nor sympathetic.

Despite common sentiment that Anora was held in high regard and an able ruler, she was not beloved by her people. She was respected, even admired in some quarters, her beauty had brought suitors from far and wide, but she didn't inspire affection. The queen was, Zevran thought, intelligent, ambitious, practical and ruthless when it suited her purposes, but good at concealing her emotions behind a public mask.

He had seen that façade slip only once: the day of her coronation when Asleena had been honoured for her part in ending the Blight. After the public speeches and offering of the boon (which Asleena, of course, had elected not to use at that point), Zevran had watched the Warden approach the newly crowned queen at one corner of the dais where the two women had spoken. He hadn't been close enough to hear above the hubbub of noise in the throne room, but from the emotion threatening to shatter Anora's composure and the expression on Asleena's face afterwards as she'd gone to embrace her brother, he strongly suspected they had spoken of Loghain's final moments.

Anora was not made of ice as many believed, but she allowed almost everyone to see her as such.

Some training with weapons and poisons, Zevran mused, some pain endurance trials on the rack, and she might have made a good Crow…

"For what it is worth," the queen said to Shianni, "I am sorry for what you and your people have suffered."

"That makes it all better," the red-head muttered, not _quite _softly enough to be unheard, but while Cauthrien glared Anora was too skilled a politician to indicate the words had even reached her ears.

"Asleena Cousland has presented me with two options," the queen said, brandishing the parchments, "one of which makes use of a favour I promised her, and I must say she has outdone herself in the breadth of her request. But to the point: I am inclined to have a talk with the Arl of Denerim to hear his defence. I can censure him, he will not be punished, but I will have him watched. Any attempt to repeat these crimes you accuse him of will carry lethal consequences—of this you have the word of Ferelden's queen."

"Censure?" Shianni echoed blankly, shooting a glance at Zevran.

"It means Vaughan will be told what a very naughty boy he is in public," Zevran said with a sardonic grin.

"So a slap on the wrist and he still remains master of Denerim," Shianni translated.

Cauthrien's scowl deepened. "You should show more gratitude, knife-ears."

"Peace," Anora said, holding up a hand towards the knight as Shianni drew herself up angrily. "Being held against one's will by a loathsome snake who takes pleasure in brutality is something I can sympathise with, Cauthrien."

"Somehow," Zevran put in while Shianni's face went from offended to quizzical, "I don't think Vaughan's tastes are as eccentric as Howe's." He paused, then added, "_Yet_."

"Noted," the queen replied. "Leave Vaughan to me for now. There is still the matter of Asleena's boon, and she has left it to the three of you to decide if it will be spent." She unrolled the parchment before herself, ignoring the shared glances her remark provoked. "In brief, it involves adopting the laws the Teyrnir of Highever has been using in its alienage to give elves legal rights. This will necessitate sending agents to the Tevinter Imperium to buy back or otherwise liberate those who were illegally sold into slavery during the Blight."

Shianni's gasp was clearly audible at that, and Anora calmly lowered Asleena's letters.

"For the latter task of travelling to the Imperium and bringing our elven citizens home, you three have been nominated as the ideal candidates."

Zevran stared in poorly-concealed disbelief, oblivious to the reactions of his companions. "Forgive me, your Majesty, but has the Warden Commander given reasons for her…generous recommendation?"

Anora's elegant blonde brows lifted a fraction. "That she has, ser." She glanced at one of the parchments. "Shianni has been mentioned for her dedication to her people, and of course hers would be a face her kin recognise and trust. Xai Merras is Tevinter-born—" both she and Zevran glanced at the Grey Warden, who inclined his head in the affirmative, "—he is fluent in the native tongue of Arcanum, and he has been to the capital of Minrathous, your destination, when he served as an Antivan Crow.

"As for yourself, Master Arainai," the queen went on briskly, "Asleena need not have recited your credentials or suitability to me. Not only was I _present _when you, she, Alistair and Leliana liberated me from Howe's hospitality, but after the Wardens surrendered to Ser Cauthrien and were imprisoned in Fort Drakon—" the knight shifted in her armour, her uneasy expression bringing a tiny smirk to Zevran's lips, "—I saw you leave Arl Eamon's estate with no other company but a mabari warhound and saw you return with them in your company. I would say you have infiltration and rescue down pat, wouldn't you?"

Except for Xai and Anora, everyone else in the room was suddenly staring at him—especially Shianni, whose eyes were wide. Apparently _those _stories hadn't been nosed around as much as the stabbing, stealing and sex…probably because they involved elves getting the one-up on over-authoritative humans and sounded like…

…well, sounded like elves could be _heroes._

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "This…nomination to sail to the Tevinter Imperium is not mandatory, your majesty?"

Shianni made a sound like she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. "But you have to come!" she insisted before Anora could reply. "All this…none of it would be happening if not for you! Andraste's Ass, on top of all that other stuff you fought the archdemon with the Grey Wardens! _Please_, Zevran," she begged, both hands lifting to her lips like one who prayed to the Maker. "Please come."

He gazed at _her _now, feeling oddly unsure of himself in the face of being looked upon as though he was being _looked up to_. A casual 'No, but good luck,' and he could bid farewell to this charity voyage and be riding towards Amaranthine before the hour was out. He might even get rid of Xai while he was at it.

Remembering the former master's presence had him slanting a look to the thus-far silent Warden. To his curiosity, there was an unaccustomed intensity in Xai's expression. His Tevinter heritage was a revelation to Zevran, but it didn't necessarily mean anything—Zevran had a Dalish tie after all, but felt no attachment to the Wandering Clans. Nevertheless, it looked like something was there…and he wondered what it was.

Anora said, "To answer your previous question, it is not required if you do not desire to go." She took the two pieces of the parchment she had torn earlier and offered either half to the assassins. "However, Asleena did leave each of you some final words to help you decide your path."

Both men glanced at the other's note, locked eyes for a drawn-out second, then backed away to read their respective letters.

_What have you gotten me into this time, woman_? Zevran thought darkly before lowering his gaze to the torn page. It was folded in his grip, hiding the inked script. _Why suggest I leave?_

It felt like a long time before he could bring himself to open it. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what it said, because he had a feeling it would convince him to go. He did not _want _to go. He liked it here, wherever _she _was, where he felt accepted, valued and _happier _than anywhere he'd known. He _could _leave, he didn't doubt it, he was free to do as he pleased or travel as he liked, but simply had no wish to.

Bracing himself with a deep breath, he started to read.

"_Zevran_,

"_I hope you will give serious thought to this trip. In the Green Dales we talked once about worthy deeds. Do you remember?"_

He did…very well. He was an assassin, and were it not for Asleena and his tenure at Highever he assumed he would have continued to make his living doing what he did best: paid murder. He had told Asleena…that being in her company gave him reason to strive for worthy goals.

And she believed he was capable of such. Of worthy things. Her faith reflected in him in a way he could not put to words.

She inspired him.

"_I know you don't think you can do it on your own, but I believe otherwise. And rescuing people from a prison tower should be no problem for you, right?"_

He snorted quietly under his breath, but felt a small and somewhat anticipatory smile curve his lips. The Circle Tower of Minrathous with all its mages might be a bit more challenging than Fort Drakon…and why did that only make the whole idea sound more dangerously appealing?

"_I feel you should go. What will you see with me but more darkspawn and Grey Wardens? If that's what you want, though, I will of course happily welcome your company when I see you again. But I want you to fly at least this once…just so you know you're able and can feel what it's like._

"_Touch the sky, Zev._

"_Ever your friend,_

"_~Asleena~"_

Zevran's brow furrowed at the closing words. He folded the letter quickly and tucked it into his armour, glancing at Xai to see the other man doing much the same thing.

"Well?" Shianni asked breathlessly.

He looked up at the vaulted ceiling, thought to himself a moment, then said, "You know, I have always wanted to travel. Until coming to Ferelden I had never set foot outside Antiva—unless you count the Nevarran embassy and the island of Llomerryn, a place so full of disrepute it is Antivan by it's very nature, a home away from home so to speak, but I digress."

Summoning a smile for Shianni's benefit, he swept a courtly bow. "It will be as you say, my dear lady. To Tevinter."

"And you, Master Merras?" Anora asked the other man. "Will you be joining them?"

"I wouldn't miss it, your Majesty," Xai replied with a serene smile, and Zevran's eyes flicked unconsciously to the spot he'd seen Asleena's letter tucked away…

Shianni coughed and said, "I…er…technically need a permit to leave Denerim, your Majesty."

"Lord Uisdean will see to that," the queen answered without missing a beat, "and a ship will be fitted to leave on the morning tide. Papers were acquired during the Blight that give us some rough estimates of how many elves were taken and how much gold the Tevinters paid to be allowed to ply their trade here. With that information, we may be able to make a rough estimate of what it will cost to purchase the elves back from the Minrathous Circle."

_However many left who are alive, at least_, Zevran thought to himself. He didn't know how well the Tevinters would have treated their newly-acquired chattel, but some were bound to have died on the long ocean voyage and still more could have perished in slavery.

Anora folded Asleena's missive up and nodded to them. "Now if you will excuse me, I have an arl to speak with and preparations to make for a trip of my own. I suggest you do what you must before tomorrow comes."

The three bowed to her, Shianni with the awkwardness of one not used to genuflecting, then were ushered out of the palace by a pair of palace guards. As soon as they were outside Shianni sucked in a great lungful of air and stared at the blue sky above, her eyes gleaming.

"I don't believe it," she said to world at large. "The Imperium! The _Tevinter sodding Imperium! _We could rescue…we could rescue my uncle, my cousin…all of them!" She laughed suddenly, turning to include both Zevran and Xai in her broad smile, and Zevran didn't have the heart to warn her against being too optimistic. "I don't know what to say. Thank you for agreeing to come."

She virtually bounced down the palace steps, leaving the two assassins to share a long look carefully devoid of expression.

"Tevinter, hm?" Zevran said.

"By blood only, Zevran," Xai answered, his mask shifting as he smiled in a slightly odd fashion. "All Crows are Antivan, as you well know."

"Of course," the elf murmured. "So why do you have such an interest in returning, I wonder?"

"And you, Zevran, are going out of the goodness of your heart?" The former master gave a faint sneer before glancing off in the direction Shianni had taken to the grounds. "Or is this merely another pair of legs to sniff after? Another conquest you have in those cold sights of yours?"

Zevran didn't give a damn what the man said when no one else was around to hear, so he only chuckled. "Do I detect a note of jealousy there, my good friend Xai?"

But the human ignored him. Still staring after Shianni, his eyes suddenly narrowed and he said, "Who is that?"

Zevran looked, then without a word in reply started to run.

Shianni was rooted to the spot in the middle of the wide road, frozen stock-still halfway between the palace proper and the gates that circled the grounds.

Approaching her position from the gates was a complement of guards bearing the green and white heraldry of Denerim, their polished armour shining in the sunlight.

At their head strode Arl Vaughan.


	7. Confrontations

_Author's Note: Thanks very much for the comments and encouragement!_ :)

_Wildfly - I was pondering for a while if I could do something like that and make it work. We'll see, but if so it won't be anything extensive-this is Zev's story, not Awakenings. :) If all goes as I intend, though, you'll learn what happened at the end._

* * *

_How did he get here so quickly? Did someone tell him what was happening?_

Unlike his soldiers, Vaughan was dressed in a fine weave of amber-and-gold silk with dark red embroidery around the collar and down the front. He was, however, armed; a serviceable sword and dagger hung from his belt, proper weapons from what Zevran could see and not the fancy toys nobles sometimes wore in the same fashion that society ladies accessorised jewellery with gowns. Zevran knew very little about Vaughan and until now had only laid eyes upon the man once, in the dungeons beneath the Denerim estate. That sole meeting and what he'd heard from Soris and Shianni had been enough for him to form certain opinions, but none of those told him how dangerous the man might be in a fight.

Zevran managed to reach Shianni before Vaughan and his entourage, but just as he was about to grab her arm to get her attention or pull her off the road he froze, realising in a flash he had no idea what the contact would do to her in her present state. Her eyes were huge in her pale face and her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps.

"Shianni," he hissed, lowering his hand, but he got no response…and then a deeper voice, laced with arrogance and malice, spoke from behind him.

"Well, well…what do we have here?"

As first words went, Zevran thought, they weren't very original. The assassin turned, moving just so in order to put his body firmly and _obviously_ between Vaughan and Shianni, then granted the nobleman a raised brow and pleasant smile.

Vaughan was not especially tall as humans went, but he was the sort of person who liked to stand offensively close when talking down to someone. It forced a shorter person, such as an elf, to cant his head back in order to meet the man's eyes, and gave the illusion of being loomed over.

In Zevran's opinion, Vaughan's choice of proximity just brought certain pieces of male anatomy that much closer to the tools of his trade, most of which could be used to ensure Vaughan would be singing several octaves higher for the rest of his life.

"Oh yes, I remember you," Vaughan purred, looking at Shianni over Zevran's shoulder. "The knife-eared bitch with the bottle. Well!" He chuckled when the girl said nothing, "your temper seems to have _sweetened _since you were broken in. And what's this?" He smirked down at Zevran, no spark of recognition glinting in his eyes. "Do you know what the law says about elves carrying weaponry?"

"Wait, I know this one! I have seen the posters in the Alienage, what did they say…" Zevran made a show of thinking.

"Elves who carry swords will die upon them," Vaughan supplied in a satisfied sort of way. "Now be a good knife-ears and hand them over."

"Where would you like them…_ser_?"

Vaughan threw his head back and laughed. "That's _funny_. If I didn't know better, I'd think that was a threat. All your sort know what to use blades for is cutting vegetables, so give up this…act of competency. Give me your weapons and stand aside so I can get reacquainted with my little pet there."

Zevran heard Shianni's breath hitch on a soft sob of fear and was tempted, then and there, to force-feed Vaughan his own manhood. The Antivan was no priest of the Maker by any stretch, but he detested the practise of rape. Anything that made a man or woman feel afraid of sex, what should be the most pleasurable experience anyone alive could _have_ in his opinion, was offensive to him.

Crows were not supposed to get involved with such things. They had rules, very strict rules, and letting certain things happen—muggings, rapes, murders and so forth, was generally good for business.

It meant more contracts from people thirsting for revenge.

But Zevran wasn't a Crow anymore…and Shianni had _already _asked him for revenge.

"Why don't you try me on for size?" he invited the arl, standing his ground. "Or I can try you on for size. Whatever tickles your fancy."

"Oh, I think I know what I fancy," Vaughan replied. "I was going to pay a personal visit to our beautiful queen…but she can wait." He began to reach past Zevran's head with one hand, intent on fingering Shianni's hair, and Zevran almost unconsciously slid a slim blade from the inside of his left bracer to nestle within his palm—

"My lord!" Xai had just reached them. "I suggest you reconsider your appetite for elves—especially these two. A permit is currently being drawn to allow this girl to leave Denerim in my charge, and her mentor here is a skilled assassin." He bowed, Antivan fashion, his accent deliberately thickened. "Xai Merras of the House of Crows. You are Arl Vaughan, are you not?"

Vaughan quickly withdrew his hand and stepped back a pace. His eyes dropped to the needle-fine stiletto that had materialised in Zevran's left hand and the elf, willing to play his part in Xai's charade for now, casually flicked the weapon between his fingers in an idle show of manual dexterity.

Vaughan managed a patrician sneer. "I had no idea the infamous Crows hired livestock."

"Certainly," Xai said, unruffled. "We have found that humans much prefer the sensual charms of elves to women of our own kind, and sex is a tried and true method of getting close to a target. Methods vary, naturally…" Xai's manner remained perfectly professional as Vaughan's guards exchanged glances, and Vaughan himself tried to look unmoved. "Some are direct and employ a sharp blade. Suffocation and strangulation are not unheard of. Many prefer to use poison that is transferred with bodily fluids, since it requires nothing more strenuous than to make love to their mark."

There was an awkward silence. Vaughan seemed to be trying to decide whether or not he was being threatened.

"What is an assassin doing in the Ferelden palace grounds?" he demanded finally. "I thought you people skulked around in the dark and committed murder in filthy back alleys. Isn't walking around in daylight for all to see against the norm?"

Xai chuckled. "My lord, assassination is not all the House of Crows is involved in. We are also greatly interested in politics, and as such we have been investigating the merits of a marriage between the royal houses of Antiva and Ferelden."

"That's preposterous," Vaughan snorted, but his attention was now fully focussed upon the former master. "Ferelden would never accept an Antivan Prince-Consort."

"I am sure I don't know who your queen will favour," Xai replied smoothly, "however, I heard rumours that the current stock of Ferelden gentlemen have failed to impress her." As Vaughan's eyes narrowed and he began a retort, the Warden added, "Except for yourself perhaps, my lord. Queen Anora mentioned you by name when I was in her august presence."

Vaughan's brows lifted in surprise. "She mentioned me?" Then he grinned. "Ha! About damned time; that woman isn't easy to melt. Tell me, what did she say?"

"She expressed a desire to speak with you this day, my lord, and hinted at some sort of upcoming public announcement. I expect you will receive word from the palace soon enough." Xai smiled. "If it means what it sounds like, please allow me to be the first to congratulate you."

"Of course it's what it sounds like," Vaughan said, looking obscenely pleased. "But why wait? I'm already here, so I think I may surprise her. On to the palace, boys," he added to his guards, and the Denerim party diverted around the supposed Crows to march on their destination.

After a moment or two, Xai smirked at nothing and said, "I don't know if he'll behave so cocksure of himself towards the queen that she'll have him hanged, but the results should be entertaining all the same."

Zevran said nothing as he returned his blade to its sheath, and hid his grudging admiration of the ploy. Vaughan sauntering into Anora's presence as though expecting to be handed a crown and a key to the royal apartments would almost certainly get up the queen's nose, and considering she'd been going to summon him regarding accusations of rape and not propositions of marriage…things could get complicated.

"Thank you," Shianni whispered. Both men turned to look at her as she wiped self-consciously at her face. "I'm sorry, I—I should get home. Need to pack for tomorrow."

It was doubtful she owned enough to warrant having to collect her belongings so early in the day, but Zevran didn't question her excuse to leave. "I will escort you, if you wish?" he offered, and she gave a quick little nod.

"You can come too if you like," she said to Xai, and missed Zevran's small frown when the former master smiled.

"I would be delighted."

They left the palace, Xai strolling ahead while the two elves followed. Zevran managed to keep silent for the space of a street before glancing at Shianni and saying, "Might I ask a question?" At her nod, he said, "Yesterday you mentioned hitting noblemen over the head with bottles, and I couldn't help noticing something the arl said just before. Would I be correct in assuming that you struck _him_?"

"Yes," she said quietly, hugging her arms. "It's what started this whole mess. I didn't know who he _was_, or I'd never have—" Shianni stopped abruptly and ran both hands over her face and through her hair. "Maker, I'm babbling. Just forget I said anything."

"Do not tell me you are blaming yourself for what he did," Zevran said, frowning.

"Shouldn't I? If I'd kept out of it it might have been better. M-maybe he would have only taken me instead of the whole bridal party, or-or maybe it wouldn't have…hurt so m-much." She folded her arms tightly again and fell silent.

_Likely you should have hit him harder,_ Zevran thought with a dark glance back towards the palace, but didn't say so. It wouldn't change what had already happened.

He wanted to say something clever or witty that'd make her smile and revert to the fiery woman he'd seen before, not this…timid and self-doubting creature, but he was no good at talking seriously or being comforting. He'd probably suggest something ridiculous to reduce her tension, like a sensual massage. He was much better at things involving touch than speech.

But he was also good at fighting…

"This trip to Tevinter," he remarked, "it is likely to take some time, no? Two months? Maybe more?"

Shianni looked uncertain where this was going. "So?"

"_So_, how well do you know how to use one of these?" Zevran tapped a dagger in his belt.

She shook her head. "Not very."

Zevran grinned. "Would you like to learn?"

* * *

By the time they reached the Alienage, Shianni was in better spirits and seemed to be looking forward to the voyage for more reasons than rescuing her kin and getting away from Denerim. She talked freely to both men, and soon started asking Xai questions about Tevinter.

"The Imperium and Antiva are closely connected with the slave trade," Xai explained. "Elves are the most common merchandise, but there are sometimes humans and even qunari prisoners of war. Dwarves are rarest, I assume due to their magical resistance and thus the difficulty of controlling them if they misbehave. Some people even sell themselves into slavery; it is not uncommon for an elf to provide for his or her family by selling himself and having the profit go to improve the lives of his kin."

"That's horrible," Shianni said flatly.

Xai chuckled. "Is it?" He gestured around at the Denerim Alienge. "Even in disrepair, this is not so rundown a place as the slums in Minrathous, Shianni. The ghettos of your kind and mine stretch further than you will believe, and above the shanties and hovels tower the soaring palaces of the magisters. If you are not a mage in Minrathous, or working for them, then you are worthless."

"Is Minrathous the only place you've been to?"

"When I was a child my family travelled a great deal. I saw several cities before we ended up in Antiva, though I can't say I remember much of them."

"You travelled?" Shianni looked interested. "Why? What did your family do?"

Xai paused, glanced at Zevran and then grinned. "We were circus performers."

Zevran snorted. "Of course you were."

"Why can't he be a circus performer?" Shianni challenged, making Zevran blink. "What did _you _do before you were a Crow?"

"I lived in an Antivan whorehouse."

"And why is _that _any more believable than working in a circus?" she asked, hands on her hips. Behind her, Xai looked on in amusement.

"Because…" Zevran floundered, taken aback and _irritated _that this was being witnessed by someone he despised. He suspected, however, if he made some comment about Xai being an untrustworthy bastard then the man would make him regret it with a remark of his own. "Fine!" he said at last. "As you wish. Xai worked in a circus."

"_Thank _you," Shianni said, and returned her attention to Xai. "Did you juggle?"

The human was, by now, grinning broadly. "Amongst other things. I preferred to dance."

Zevran chewed off a disbelieving swear word under his breath. Strictly speaking there was no reason why Xai might not be telling the truth, but after their months of association in Highever and _especially _after what had been revealed thanks to Master Dario, he was not inclined to trust the human any further than he could be thrown.

Plus, the idea of Shianni _befriending _him was just…just…

_Calm down, Zevran…Yes, the man is a bastard; he was a Crow Master. So stop being so obvious about your disapproval, hm? Being unbalanced around him is unwise._

At the door of Shianni's house, Xai bade the girl farewell, implicated to Zevran that he would be in the Market District or the Warden compound for the remainder of the day, and departed.

"You don't like him, do you?" Shianni observed, folding her arms and tilting her head.

"He was a relatively powerful Crow before he became a Warden, and followed a code there was not much to like about," Zevran said. "He has also tried to work me into positions where I would be killed on a number of occasions. Believe me, my dear, I am fully justified in my dislike."

"That's rich," Shianni said. "You don't like him because he tried to get you killed? Isn't that what you did to the Grey Wardens?"

"That was different." Zevran waved a hand, trying to sound dismissive despite being nettled by her observation. "Besides, even when I was a Crow I had heard some truly delightful stories about him."

"Oh? Like the stories we've heard about you?"

Zevran forced a smile. "Or you can just ignore my instincts," he said. "After all, they got me where I am now, no?"

"I don't mean—" Shianni took a deep breath. "Maker, it's just that we're going to be on a ship for however long…are you sure the two of you won't kill each other before we get to Minrathous?"

"I will try to curb my murderous habits, never fear." He bowed. "I should let you pack. I have errands of my own to see to."

She nodded. "I have to talk to our elder Valendrian as well. He should be able to give me a list of names of who the Tevinters took. And I might see Alarith too; he used to live in the Imperium. Oh, Zevran?" she added as he inclined his head and moved to leave. "Thanks for standing up to Vaughan before. I mean it."

Zevran hesitated before bowing a second time. "When we return to Denerim, things will be different," he assured her. "Anora will have received word from Highever and Vaughan will not possess the same power over this place as he does now. You will see."

She ventured a smile. "I hope so."

* * *

Once back at the Grey Warden compound, Zevran found himself a private space, some parchment and ink, and began scratching out a letter to Alistair, Fergus, Galahan and Sindel. It would take over a week for it to reach Highever, but he would not get another chance for a long time once out at sea.

_Greetings from Denerim!_

_We have only been here little over a day and much has happened, most of it unexpected. Fergus will be pleased to know that his sister is a devious woman, and Alistair will enjoy to hear that she caught Ferelden's queen completely by surprise. As for Galahan and Sindel, I bear news of the Alienage here that will be of interest._

_I will explain all, of course, but I must also ask a favour of the fair Sindel…_


	8. Blood Magic and Mind Games

_Author's Note: My apologies for the longer than expected delay...and thanks for your patience. :) No dramas here, I think I just needed a break. To those of you who have just tuned in after reading _The Hunt_, I usually don't take this long between updates, I swear. XD Glad to have you along!_

_Lehni - Zevran and Ferrix (Dog) rescued Alistair and Asleena from Fort Drakon. :)  
_

_CynderJenn - At some point, chances are you will learn about Anora/Vaughan. ;) Truth be told I haven't decided on a course of action yet, heh._

_Glenboy - Thank you. If I didn't say it before, your reviews in The Hunt encouraged me to do a bit of research into the subject so I could get a better grip on what I'm writing about. I'm glad it seems to be coming across realistically. :)_

_Everyone - As usual, thanks muchly for reading, and to the wonderful reviewers. :)  
_

* * *

Shianni attacked.

Zevran met her charge, lifting his wooden training weapons to clack against hers, and parried both slashes before skipping quickly to one side as she aimed a kick at his groin.

"Good!" he said, taking a new stance. "Your blades are not the only weapon at your disposal—use them all. Again!"

The two elves paced back and forth across a section of _The Royal Sail_'s deck_, _allotted to their use by Captain Meriel, raising a merry din with their imitation blades and shouts. Occasionally a few of the sailors who were lounging along the rail to watch would applaud or cheer when Shianni got a particularly good shot in. At first Zevran had had reservations about the impact spectators would have on the elven woman's performance, but as time passed he judged it was boosting her confidence—and this was almost as important as skill to his mind.

She had to believe she had the power to defend herself if cornered, or she would risk freezing when threatened.

They had been at sea just shy of four weeks now. For the first two Zevran had taught her simple defence techniques that needed no weapons, like how to escape an offending wrist-grab and which way to twist it to cause maximum pain or incapacitation. It hadn't been easy for her right away as it had required a certain amount of physical contact, but he had been careful and managed to talk obliging female sailors into assisting with demonstrations when required. As the lessons had progressed and Shianni had discovered that brute strength wasn't necessarily the only way out of a bad situation, she had become eager to learn more.

"Knowing precisely where to strike, and how, is often more important than a powerful blow to a spot that can absorb the impact," Zevran had told her. "A strong punch to the stomach may inconvenience your opponent for a few seconds; slapping your hands over both his ears will rupture his hearing and allow you to escape. _Always know _whether you mean to run away or make a kill; an injured man who can still give chase will likely be an angry man out to make you pay."

As for the wooden swords, Zevran had found them while rummaging through the Wardens' armoury looking for something Shianni could arm herself with, and liberated these in the process. After she had gotten the hang of dirty fighting and defending herself without regular weapons, he'd moved her on to sparring. It was much too early to know if she'd ever be particularly good, but she was training hard enough and listening to his instructions with so much dedication that she was on her way to becoming competent—_if _she remembered what she'd been taught when faced with a real fight. First blood affected different people in different ways, and shooting darkspawn from afar was not the same as knifing someone in the chest, feeling their warm blood leak out across your hands and sensing the last beats of their heart quiver along your blade.

Zevran grunted as a fist got him in the belly, then felt a sharp kick to one of his legs and toppled sideways. Angling his fall to hit the deck without hurting himself, he curled up, clutched his shin and groaned.

"Nice try," Shianni told him from somewhere above, "but last time you did that and I went to your aid I ended up with one arm twisted behind my back and a knife at my throat. You think I'm stupid enough to fall for that twice in one week?"

Zevran stopped his act, looked up at her and grinned. The stunt Shianni mentioned had also frightened the girl badly at the time, a reaction Zevran had not expected. He'd anticipated outrage at him tricking her, indignation at him laying hands on her, but the response had been nothing but fear. Fortunately, after a bit of a rest and time to think, she had seemed willing to recognise his move as a lesson and it had not eroded her desire to keep training with him.

"You remembered," he said, pleased, and sat up. "Excellent. I think that is enough fun for now."

Shianni looked disappointed but put up her training weapons and nodded. "How far away are we from the Imperium, do you think?" she asked. "What's that big mass of land ahead?"

Zevran got up with another exaggerated groan and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Maker, the way you act sometimes you'd think you were an invalid."

"If I were, would you tuck me in at night and spoon me my dinner?"

"Keep dreaming, Zevran Arainai. Besides, I think I'd have to fight the captain for the privilege."

The assassin tried to cover his surprise. He'd managed to charm his way into Meriel's bed at least five times since boarding _The Royal Sail_, but at her request he'd been discreet and mentioned their trysts to nobody.

"What makes you think that?" he asked, raising an inquisitive brow and smiling. "Has the good captain mentioned something about me, perchance?"

"She asked me if I had my eye on you," Shianni said with a grimace. "I said you're too old for me. Sorry."

"Too old!" Zevran laughed. "What is this? And even if I was of a more venerable age, matured and piquant like some exquisite wine, what is so bad about having an older lover? I had the pleasure of being acquainted with a mage of enough years to be my grandmother once, and she had the most magnificent pair of—"

"Maker's Breath!" The girl stared at him. "Do you seriously go around looking at old women's breasts?"

"If they are beautiful breasts, why not?"

Shianni shuddered. "Urgh. Never mind, I don't want to think about it. Anyway, I was asking how far away we were."

Zevran gave her an amused smirk then looked northwest, squinting against the wind and spray. It was getting towards sunset, but the sky was clear and still light enough to see. Almost directly north was a patch of verdant, mountainous land, and directly west was the coast of the Free Marches and, somewhere to the north, the Antivan border.

He pointed to where the land curved into a bay a fair distance ahead. "Those are the shining Antivan waters of Rialto Bay," he said. "On the west bank is my fair Antiva, and on the east where you can see the mountains is the nation of Rivain. Those islands that are closer to us, you see them, yes? The larger one is called Llomerynn, a thriving den of miscreants. I suspect we are at least a month away from Minrathous—we must circle around Rivain and get past the qunari before reaching the Tevinter Imperium."

"There are qunari up here?"

"Further north, yes, many qunari."

He didn't say that with the war between them and Tevinter, there was a chance their ship might be attacked. _The Royal Sail _was flying Ferelden colours and might not be harassed, but it _was _on a course for Minrathous. Captain Meriel had given the impression she was not blind to the possibility, and Zevran had been pleased to hear that the majority of the crew possessed training with weapons, or had been soldiers in the Blight. Anora had actually provided them with a decent chance to reach their destination and fend off boarders. There was even a skilled surgeon on board.

"Did you learn much about Tevinter from that friend of yours?" he asked Shianni.

"Alarith?" She shook her head. "Not really. His family were slaves at the estate of some blood mage. Him, his brother and mother were pretty much house servants, cleaning, cooking and stuff, but his father was something called a blood slave." She gave him a quizzical look. "Know what that is?"

Zevran turned his back to the rail and lounged against it, then nodded across the deck. "Why not ask our resident Tevinter native?"

Like Zevran and most of the other men on board, Xai wore nothing above his waist in the near-tropical heat. His skin was almost as tanned as the elf's, perhaps a shade paler after the year spent in Ferelden, but the human's muscle was more clearly defined, the shoulders a bit broader, the chest a little deeper. There was a dusting of dark hair across his pectorals and a thin trail of it from his navel to the sash of his loose canvas trousers. Unlike Zevran, whose torso was smooth and free of ink, Xai had markings that accentuated his abdominal muscles and hips before vanishing below his waistband in a deliberate and time-honoured tradition of drawing the watcher's eyes down low, and, with any luck, their thoughts as well.

The human was attractive enough to earn his fair share of glances from the deckhands—there were few children the Crows purchased who _didn't_ have that element promising superficial beauty, but neither on this ship nor back in Highever had Zevran noticed him returning any interest shown towards himself. He was older than the elven assassin by, Zevran guessed, more than five years but fewer than ten, and there was a small tattoo of seemingly random spidery lines directly over the man's heart, a Crow symbol Zevran had seen before but didn't know the meaning of. It was picked out in a very odd, dark blue ink that glittered in certain lights.

Galahan had asked him about that tattoo once, but received no useful response other than a claim it had been received during his training to attain the mantle of a master assassin.

Tattoos and musculature aside, Shianni had started to pay the man more attention of late, particularly after practise bouts when the adrenaline was still running high. It wasn't the look of a woman looking to bed a man (and despite Zevran's last-moment oath to Soris he would protect the lass to the best of his abilities, this did not extend to policing who she chose to make love to), but a gauging sort of glance, as though she was sizing him up.

For his part, Xai appeared as indifferent to her attention as he was to anyone else's. Zevran knew he couldn't be _ignorant_ of it.

"Blood slave," Xai said when Shianni called him over, "is a broad term, but most commonly it's applied to those unfortunates the mages use as a power source. A blood mage can use the life-essence of another living being, willing or no, to replenish or supplement their own energies. Think of blood slaves as walking, talking, self-refilling lyrium potions and you won't be far off."

Shianni looked repulsed at the idea. "No wonder the Chantry says blood magic is evil. And Loghain let people like that into Denerim? I can't believe they put up a statue of the man!"

"That's hardly the worst blood magic has to offer," Xai told her with a small shrug. "But since the collapse of the dwarf empire, the schism in the Chantry and the war with the qunari, the Tevinter Imperium has little choice but to rely on such methods for their studies, spells and self-defence."

"I don't understand."

"Then allow me to explain." Xai leaned against the rail beside her, so that she was between him and Zevran. "Lyrium can only be mined by dwarves," he said, "and as far as I'm aware, trade to the surface only comes from Orzammar in western Ferelden. It's a highly controlled substance, restricted by the Chantry, but the Chantry that you know in Ferelden and I know in Antiva is different to what's in Tevinter: the Imperial Chantry.

"Roughly three centuries ago Tevinter disputed on the role of mages in society, saying that they should still be allowed to rule and hold positions of power. A far cry from keeping mages in locked towers under the eyes of Templars, I'm sure you'll agree. That combined with other doctrinal differences led to Tevinter splitting from the main body of the Chantry and electing their own Divine, and among other things this resulted in a stranglehold on the lyrium trade. Anything that reaches Imperial borders is mostly smuggled and _very _expensive."

"Let me guess," Zevran said. "The lyrium that _does _reach Tevinter hands is too valuable to waste in simple things such as potions, so they go into crafting runes and wondrous items, yes?"

Xai lifted a brow at this, but responded to the neutral observation in kind. "Correct. Why waste such a thing when blood can fulfil much the same role and is, by and large, a renewable resource?"

"But it's sick!" Shianni objected.

"The Tevinter Imperium has been at war with the qunari for over two hundred years," Xai said. "No matter their methods, it is keeping the majority of their people safe. They cannot easily access lyrium, so they use blood slaves."

"Are you saying that makes it all right?"

"I am merely offering you some perspective, Shianni," Xai replied calmly. "But like I said, blood magic has far darker applications than merely using another's energies to enhance one's own, namely mind control, dream walking and demon summoning."

"Darker applications?" Zevran couldn't resist echoing, and he gave a soft snort. "I would have thought mind control an appealing power for you given your predisposition to manipulation, my good friend Xai."

Xai merely smiled in an amused sort of way. "Such spells are not without weak points. Blood magic, as with any magic, is not impossible to defend against so long as one is prepared for it. It can be detected and dispelled. Non-magical mind games require more _finesse_."

"The elves from Denerim," Shianni said, jumping back into the conversation. "Will they be…turned into blood slaves?"

"Some of them, most definitely," the Warden concurred, without hesitation or apparent sympathy, and Shianni pushed away from the rail. Her face was livid when she spun to face Xai's next words.

"The way you described how the Tevinters chose who to be slaves does not feel random to me, Shianni. They selected those with working skills, those who I assume could be resold for a good price, and those with…I suppose you could call it a strong tie to life. Valuable blood slaves have strength, endurance and a will to survive. Those who are too young or weak perish as easily as you or I would toss a ceramic plate against the ground." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't know how they decide who these strong-spirited ones are, but I have seen Tevinter mages at the Minrathous slave blocks…they just look at people and know." Something like a contemptuous sneer twisted his lips. "They get quite excited about it at times."

The elven girl paled. "Oh Maker…that's how the shems treated Ciela."

"Your cousin?" Zevran prompted.

"She pretended she was sick to get inside and find out what was happening and they more than _believed _her, they were _eager_ for her to enter! And I—"

—_convinced her to go, _Zevran finished silently, watching guilt and horror chase each other across her features. _Perhaps even tried to go with her, but was turned away at the door._

"How do you know so much about blood magic?" he demanded of Xai, deliberately removing the attention from Shianni.

"I've assassinated a couple of magisters in my time," was the smooth response. "I did my research."

"I'm surprised Tevinters would hire non-mages for something so mundane as killing."

It was a shot in the dark to assume the contract had been made by mages, but Xai laughed and didn't dispute the guess.

"Don't be surprised, Zevran. I told you blood magic has its weaknesses, didn't I? There was a mage from the city of Vyrantium in Tevinter, a woman named Adralla, who dedicated her life to the study of spells powered by blood. It's said she found a defence and counter-technique to every trick there was, even to preventing the summoning of demons. As you might imagine, there were some blood mages who weren't particularly impressed at the prospect of being rendered…ah…_impotent_." He grinned. "At least three magisters tried to kill her to prevent her work from becoming read and spread, but she survived each attempt and eventually escaped Tevinter altogether. Though they tried to use blood magic to stalk her through her dreams…of course they could not, because she knew how to keep them out.

"Had they hired a Crow to deal with the issue, perhaps the woman would have died from something other than ripe old age."

"Do you know any of these defences?" Shianni asked in a subdued voice. "They might be useful if we get into trouble or if…if anyone needs to be protected."

There was a short silence, the gusting wind causing the ropes overhead to creak, but then Xai lifted one bare shoulder in a half-shrug. "I am as susceptible to blood magic as the next non-mage." Tilting back his head to smile at the billowing sails, he added, "But one doesn't need mystical defences to step out of the shadows and slide a blade across a mage's throat."

Zevran cocked his head. "That is a rather direct method for a craftmaster, no?"

The Warden's position against the rail remained relaxed as he chuckled. "It was merely an observation, Zevran."

_No…no it was not. _That_ was reminiscing._

Someone_ remembers spilling the blood of a blood mage, and remembers it fondly._

_Just what is in the Tevinter Imperium that you are after, I wonder?_

"Do you think it will come to fighting?" Shianni said then, looking worried.

"That depends on how successful we are in convincing the Circle to sell their new slaves back," Xai said, "and how insistent we are about collecting them all. Tell me, Shianni…let us say your uncle, cousin or brother's fiancée are not released. Perhaps the Tevinters deem one of them far too valuable for us to afford. Would you wish to risk a dangerous rescue attempt, or leave them with the magisters?"

"So long as none of the others we'd saved would be endangered, I'd want to try rescuing them," Shianni said at once. "They'd do the same for me."

He pointed at her wooden training weapons. "Then my advice is to keep practising."

Shianni nodded in a very business-like manner. "Right. Come on then. Zevran said he was tired so _you_ can go a round with me."

Rather than let this goad him to a protest, Zevran smirked, allowed his indolent slouch to become more pronounced, and wiped a theatrical hand across his brow where the sweat had dried quite some time ago. "Oh, so very tired," he agreed. "Do go on, Xai. She is a most amiable sparring partner and bruises left by a beautiful woman are worth the pain, no?" He nudged his own wooden swords with a bare toe where they lay on the deck. "Come, do not let the dear lady down. I have never known an Antivan Crow who couldn't rise to the challenge, as it were."

Xai got up, but didn't bend to retrieve the weapons. Shianni watched him warily as he stalked across the deck to stand opposite her and put the sun at his back. He didn't crouch to prepare for any sort of attack or stand side-on to make himself a narrower target, but presented himself squarely to her: tall, human, _male_, and with an arrogant cast to his face that looked for all the world like…

Zevran's posture straightened and he glanced sharply towards the elf girl for her reaction. Her brown eyes were uneasy, but she had taken a defensive stance and the fingers around her wooden hilts weren't shaking.

"There's only one lesson you truly want from me, knife-ears," Xai said, and not only was his accent suddenly _Ferelden, _but his voice had taken on the same disdainful note that echoed Arl Vaughan's tone. "You want to know if you can face a human man without collapsing into a blithering heap or freezing like a mouse before a serpent. I, well…" He took a step closer, chuckling low, and the sinking sun behind him instantly put Shianni in the dark fall of his shadow. "I'm not so sure you're _ready_." A second confident stride, then a third, and he was almost looming over her. "Do you really think you can take me even _once_ after all the times you were taken?"

When Shianni didn't move and Xai advanced the remaining distance to stare down upon her, Zevran spoke, assuming his 'teacher' voice.

"You see how close he stands, yes? It is intimidating, but lacking wisdom. A man who towers over you so believes he can cow you into submission. But keep your wits about you, my dear. The shorter the distance between you and him, the closer he is to your blades. _Too_ close and there is no way he can evade a sudden attack."

The stabbing thrust that propelled Shianni's hand and training blade towards Xai's stomach would have severely inconvenienced him had the weapon been sharp. Even blunted, the impact tore a graze across his belly and Zevran saw the human's jaw clench against an outburst of pain.

Shianni didn't stop with the single stab either, but followed through with her off-hand and a wild yell, swinging up for his face.

This time Xai defended himself. He grabbed her up-surging wrist and took a half-step backwards to widen the gap between them, his stance lowering for balance. Again he stopped and waited, lips curved, eyes calculating.

"Good," Zevran said as Shianni's breath hissed between her bared teeth. "And you have not dropped your weapons. Excellent. But you do not need my assistance for this part, surely? We have gone over how to escape a hand that seeks to bind your wrist many a time. Have you forgotten already, my dear?"

Shianni's eyes flicked to Xai's restraining hand, then she twisted her arm swift and sharp away from the thumb and against the circle his fingers made, breaking free. She staggered back a step and brought her weapons up again, face pale and eyes blown wide but _alight_.

Xai saw it too. He pulled back, straightened and displayed his open palms to her. "I believe you have just answered your own question, Shianni," he said, the Antivan edge returning to his voice, and nodded. "Well done."

Then, with a small smile and another backwards step, he turned away and headed for the hatch that led below.

Zevran's attention was pulled back to the girl at the sound of her long, shuddering breath.

"Maker's Breath, I could really use a drink about now," she said in an unsteady voice, but she managed a smile.

"Mmm." Zevran observed her thoughtfully. "There are other way to relax besides imbibing spirits, my dear Shianni, but…this is cause for some celebration, no? Perhaps I could prevail upon the good captain for a jot of rum." He paused. "You look like you don't know whether to be pleased with what just happened or terrified."

Shianni laughed a bit, managing to sound exhausted and exalted at the same time. "Both? You have…no idea, Zevran." She shook her head but her smile didn't fade. "You really don't..."


	9. Welcome to Minrathous

_Author's Note: Before I forget, big thanks to klarabella who got me speculating on the idea of blood slaves/mana batteries in the first place. :) _

* * *

Zevran inhaled loudly through his nose and grinned tightly. "Smell that?" he asked Shianni. "The stench of misery."

The girl had a hand covering her nose. "It smells worse than an open latrine," she said, her voice muffled.

"That is, indeed, part of the bouquet," Xai murmured. "The lower slave pens don't bother much with matters of sanitation."

"Excrement, blood, rot, various diseases, unwashed flesh and general fear and hopelessness," Zevran summed up. "If you think it bad now, just imagine walking through it." He gazed at the slowly approaching port of Minrathous, and added in a softer voice, "Then pray to the Maker you never have to _live _in it."

After several tense weeks of sailing through the Northern Passage, the Ventosus Straits and then the Norcen Sea, waters that bore the flotsam of many a battle between Tevinter and qunari forces, _The Royal Sail _had come within sight of the Imperium's capital city. Zevran, Shianni and Xai stood at the prow, watching as they sailed nearer.

From a distance, Minrathous was a towering city of beauty. Majestic, glittering spires of fanciful design rose above an urban sprawl that stretched for miles. There were walls, gigantic structures which, according to Xai, encircled what had once been the rich and powerful heart of an empire that had reached all the way to Ostagar in the Korcari Wilds.

But the closer the ship drew to port, the easier it became to see that time and war had swollen the population far beyond the capacity of those walls. What might have been outlying villages had grown, merged into slums and refugee camps, then spread around the land circling Minrathous like a creeping plague of humanity.

The breeze from the west carried the smells of the city docks; specifically where the slave-ships were moored. In Antiva, Zevran had avoided the slave pens as much as possible after his mere two days of captivity in squalor and terror, but here, scenting the rancid smell of stale sweat and waste, combined with the ambient overtones of fear and despair…this was bringing all those unpleasant childhood memories back. The nightmare lacked only sounds: of pronged whips and filth-encrusted chains, of broken sobbing, of once-free people begging for mercy, for their families…

"Was it very bad?" Shianni asked, almost provoking a visible start from his reverie. "Being a slave, that is?"

"I was lucky," Zevran said. "I only spent two nights in the cages before I was paraded before prospective buyers and the Crows took me in. Had I not been purchased…if fortunate I would have been kept there longer or moved to another city on one of those…pleasant-looking scows over there." He pointed towards the ugly ships at the slave-side dock.

"Other Antivan cities?"

"Or to the Imperium," Xai said, almost absently.

Shianni turned to him. "How long were _you_ with the slavers?"

"Three days."

"What happens if no one buys a slave?"

"Are you certain you wish to know?" Zevran replied, sure she would not enjoy what she heard, but Xai answered.

"Fodder in arenas, entertainment and animal food in menageries, unwilling whores for the slavers—"

Shianni went white.

"—breeding stock to provide for those who wish to buy babies—"

"_Breeding_—!"

"—in Antiva, many of the old or sick slaves are donated to various assassin guilds as training dummies," Xai went on musingly. "Crow apprentices are de-sensitised to murder and bloodshed by being exposed to it often while still children. A worthless slave is pushed to his knees before a youth, a blade is put in your hands, and—"

"Enough! I don't want to hear any more, all right?"

Xai stopped with his mouth open on the next word, then a second later closed it with an uncharacteristically expressionless look on his face. Ignoring Zevran's scrutiny, the Warden said only, "As you say."

But Shianni didn't seem willing to let it drop _that _easily. "Do you think it's funny?"

The former master's sardonic smile returned. "From a certain perspective it's hilarious. Did you know there's more money spent on assassination contracts than paying for a living person from the slave block?"

"How much coin was spent for _your _life, Xai Merras?" Zevran asked.

"Five gold sovereigns."

The elf scoffed. He wasn't going to believe that for one second.

"I'm sorry, Zevran," Xai said solicitously. "Was I more valuable than you? I didn't mean to bruise your fragile self-esteem."

"Most kind of you," Zevran purred, unfazed. "Perhaps one day you would care to cross blades with me and we will see if those five coins you claim were a worthy investment. But if you are afraid or not up to the challenge, it is no tragedy. I understand."

"Can you two…_men_…" Shianni butted in, giving each of them a shove, "stop beating your chests at each other for one minute?" She pointed at Minrathous. "Do we have any idea where to start looking? My people were taken by the Circle of Magi, right?"

"The Circle Tower is in the heart of the city," Xai said. "Not far from the Grand Cathedral."

"So how do we get past those huge walls?"

"Captain Meriel assured me we will be docking at a Ferelden-owned port rather than with the slavers," Zevran said. "I am sure the embassy will be able to arrange contact with the Circle, considering we carry missives from Queen Anora."

"The Commander was informed of a Grey Warden compound here as well, situated within the walls," Xai said. "If diplomatic channels don't work, perhaps some assistance may be had from them." He paused, then added, "She…granted me the authority to invoke the Right of Conscription, by the way."

"Meaning?" Zevran asked cautiously.

"Meaning, Zevran, that if there is some slave we particularly wish freed that the mages don't want to part with, or if _you _get yourself into so much trouble there's no other way out…" Xai left it hanging.

"I don't believe you," Zevran said in a flat voice, certain Asleena would _never _have permitted conscription against his will. "But just in case you try it anyway, know that I _will _slit your throat, Grey Warden or no."

"But you could recruit any slaves you wanted?" Shianni interrupted. "The mages wouldn't be able to say no, right?"

"It's a last resort," Xai told her. "Don't get it into your head that we can stride in and conscript a dozen or more elves to the Grey."

"But you _could_—"

He shook his head. "I won't. It would stir ill-will against the Wardens based here."

"So? It'd save people from lives of slavery at the hands of blood mages!" Shianni protested with some heat.

"I have my orders."

"Sod your orders!"

"There are some other things the two of you might want to consider before we dock," Xai said, turning to face them rather than the city. "None of us are mages. You are elves. I am human and a Grey Warden, so I am the best protection you will _have _here and I suggest you do exactly what I tell you to do. My first piece of advice is this: while in Minrathous, keep your sentiments on slavery and maleficarum to yourself. Affront the wrong person and you'll find out exactly what it feels like to have your blood boiling in your veins."

He left the foredeck after that, with Shianni glaring after him.

"I'm ready to start not liking him now," she muttered.

Although tempted to say _I told you so_, Zevran said, "As much as I hate to say it, Xai has the right of it. We must tread carefully, you and I. And to some extent…we will have to trust him."

* * *

_The Royal Sail _was towed in to port an hour or so later, and after Captain Meriel presented her official documents to the port authority everyone was given passes, little more than thick pieces of leather with an imprint of Ferelden's coat of arms overlaid by the sunburst pattern of the Imperial Chantry. These were supposed to prove they were Ferelden citizens authorised to do business in the Tevinter Imperium, and Zevran suspected the protection they afforded would last for as long as it took someone to steal them. The first thing he did was pick a hole in one end of Shianni's, thread it on a leather thong and politely order her to wear it around her neck and tuck it down the front of her bodice.

"I don't know how long you plan to be," the captain said to Zevran before they disembarked, "but we will need a few days at least to resupply. Food and fresh water for whomever you manage to liberate, and possibly medical supplies depending on the state they're in."

"Should the elves be sent straight here then?" he asked.

"No, they should go to the embassy first so the paperwork can be sorted out. Besides, I doubt any of them will be in a hurry to board the ship before it's time to go. I saw the inside of a slave-ship once, and even empty…" She folded her arms against a shiver. "By Andraste, I'll never forget the smell. I just hope the _Sail _will be more comfortable for their journey home.

"Be careful out there, Zevran. If I'm not on the ship when you need me someone on board will know where I am." She flashed a grin. "And if you just find yourself lonely for some company..."

"Ah, my Captain…" Zevran gave her a slow smile and an elegant bow, "shall I take that as…permission to come aboard when I return?"

Meriel only smirked knowingly and returned to her duties, leaving Zevran to navigate the gangplank to where Shianni and Xai waited on the jetty. He relayed the captain's advice about the elves and the embassy, then said, "I presume we are heading there ourselves first, yes? A decent bath would not go amiss."

"Maker, _yes_," Shianni agreed. "I smell like sweat, tar and sea-salt and my hair is disgusting."

"We need to go there to arrange passage to the inner city anyway," Xai said, though his glance from one elf to the other spoke volumes of his suspicion that they were both suddenly, and readily, looking to him for leadership. Zevran grinned as soon as the human's back was turned.

It felt strange to have unmoving ground beneath his feet again. After two months walking a deck that pitched and swayed with the waves, it was odd to see everything remain so stationary. Zevran had been on ships before, but never for so long a period at one time. It was the furthest he'd ever travelled in his life, he realised. He glanced at Shianni, who was looking ahead with wide-eyed curiosity as they followed Xai to where the pier met solid earth and cobbled road. She had probably never set foot outside Denerim until recently.

The waterfront, or at least this part of it, was nothing spectacular. There were warehouses for cargo and dives for sailors fresh from the sea. Cheap stalls peddling goods of dubious origin were in evidence, and hawkers bearing trays or armloads of the same cheap merchandise called out to the group as they passed, displaying strings of painted glass beads or offering to paint portraits for a small-yet-unspecified fee.

"I'll have to buy Soris something before we go home," Shianni commented at one point, and Zevran arched an amused brow.

"Souvenirs? Truly, my dear?" He laughed. "Are we on vacation now?"

"No, you big idiot. But…why not a souvenir or two? I mean…Soris…he _really _wasn't happy that I was just leaving home like that with a complete stranger." The girl eyed a distant trestle table covered with wooden carvings. "I owe him. And he hasn't had a break in ages, you know?"

"You have me at a loss, I'm afraid."

"When Vaughan—" Shianni frowned at herself and continued. "The day he turned up in the Alienage was Soris' wedding day. I said Valora was his fiancée, right? Vaughan and his thugs showed up right when Mother Boann was getting to the vows, and he abducted the entire bridal party. Soris and the other groom, Nelaros, managed to slip inside the Denerim manor with help from a servant, but th-they…"

"You do not have to speak of it," Zevran said quietly when she faltered. "Concentrate on your brother for now."

"Vaughan…made Soris watch when Valora was being raped. To show him how 'real men do it', he said. Then Soris was thrown into the dungeon until you and the Wardens found him, and when he gets home it's to find the Tev—" she lowered her voice, "—the Tevinters, plague, the city at war and most of our family missing. And after the Blight he's had to try and scrape a living while I…keep stirring up trouble." She tried for a casual shrug and repeated:. "I owe him."

"You don't think bringing your family safely home will be enough for him?"

That made her smile come back. "Yeah, but…I want to get something just for him as well. Haven't you ever given someone a gift to make them feel appreciated?"

Zevran chuckled. "Yes, I…it is a good feeling."

"To see their face light up and know that, just for that moment, they're happy?"

Maker's breath, but it felt like only yesterday when he'd put that apple in Asleena's hand, led the stallion near and seen the awe-struck look in her eyes when he'd bidden her open them…

"I used to love Name Days and Satinalia," Shianni went on, her mood brightening in the glow of happy memories. "Do you celebrate those in Antiva?"

"In Antiva, yes, but not so the Antivan Crows." Zevran grimaced. "Accept a gift from an assassin, my dear, and be prepared to check it quite thoroughly for poison. The whorehouse was slightly better; on Satinalia the children were given treats. There was a kind of rock candy I remember being particularly fond of, and ahh!" He expelled a long sigh, warming to his subject. "My Antiva has such sweetmeats and breads, I get all wistful just thinking about it." Glancing around then, with considerably more interest than before, he said, "I wonder what sort of foods they have here in Tevinter? Ferelden knows nothing of fine cuisine—it is all lumpy stews and poorly cooked vegetables."

"Fine cuisine, huh?" Shianni was grinning. "I'll have to cook you my famous rabbit stew one day. You'll eat it and you'll love it."

Zevran's answering smirk was on the sly side. "My dear…are you asking me out to dinner? And offering to cook it?"

"Don't look at me like that, I—" she broke off suddenly, eyes flicking to something behind him. "Maker's breath…_Taeodor_!"

There was a simple stall nearby, a canvas awning over a wooden table laden with rocks and crystals, overseen by a dwarven woman. Also at the stall was a green-robed man with a long tail of black hair and a mage staff, accompanied by two elves in bright vermillion tunics with the Chantry's golden sunburst on the back.

One of the elves, a tanned young man with tight blond curls, turned at Shianni's cry, missed some order the mage gave, and was promptly struck across the face for his inattention.

Zevran grabbed Shianni's wrist as the girl pushed past him. "Let it be," he hissed. "This is not the place!"

"Let me _go_!" With a practised twist of her arm that would have had Zevran beaming with teacherly pride in any other situation, Shianni slipped free and dashed across the street yelling, "Leave him alone, shem!"

The mage wheeled to stare at her, then retorted in an accented King's Tongue: "_Shem_? Someone needs to teach you your place, elf!"

Even as Zevran ran after Shianni, he saw the mage's nails dig into his open palm to draw blood. The hand lifted and a red glow suffused it.

Shianni stumbled…then _screamed._

One of Zevran's daggers zipped through the air and sank into the blood mage's palm, breaking the spell and evoking a shout of pain and a disbelieving cry of, "You _dare_?"

"The girl did no harm beyond speaking out of turn, my friend," Zevran said, putting himself in front of Shianni who had collapsed to the road and was gasping for air. Another dagger was balanced between the gloved fingers of the assassin's right hand, poised to throw. "Your retaliation was unduly harsh, yes? Surely we can let this matter drop and avoid further unpleasantness."

The mage glared at him and pulled the blade from his palm with a soft hiss of breath. Rather than heal the wound, he clenched his fist so that the blood ran freely and dripped between his fingers. He was hesitating to cast another spell, Zevran could tell…but he looked angry and proud enough that he might just try his luck.

"Magister!" Xai Merras approached and issued a formal bow. "I apologise for the behaviour of my companions. The Grey Wardens and the Kingdom of Ferelden have come to do business with the Imperial Circle of Magi and this is…" he shot a glance at Zevran "…a poor way to begin relations." He switched to another language, Arcanum probably, and Zevran took the opportunity to check that Shianni was all right.

"I messed up, didn't I?" she said, voice hoarse and unsteady as she accepted his aid to stand. "I always manage it somehow. Maker, that _hurt_…"

"I will have to work on teaching you how to be more cautious, I see," Zevran said. "Calling people names isn't a good way to get their cooperation, my dear." He glanced over as Xai came near.

"Magister Ezio is willing to drop a formal charge of assault in exchange for using the blood of any one of us to heal himself," the Warden said.

"Formal charge?" Shianni echoed in disbelief. "_He _attacked _me_!"

"You're an elf, he's a mage, and this is the Tevinter Imperium," Xai said bluntly. "He's _allowed _to attack you. Now, unless you want to make things worse, Shianni…_Shut. Up._" He locked eyes with Zevran. "After your…_brilliant_ handling of the situation back there, Arainai, I suggest you volunteer yourself."

"Naturally." Zevran scowled, and willing as he was to take responsibility for his own actions, being ordered to _volunteer_ simply rubbed him the wrong way. "I would be the last person to expect you to put _your _life on the line for a comrade. That Grey Warden symbol Asleena gave you is just for show, yes?"

Xai grabbed the elf's shoulder as he made to pass. "It will hurt," he said in a low voice, switching to Antivan this time, "and he will not stop until he hears you cry out in pain. This is not some Crow trial to test your endurance, Zevran, so hold on to your pride at your peril."

"Your concern is touching, my friend, truly," Zevran replied in Ferelden, shrugging him off, "but I have never submitted to torture, and I trust you will remember your oath to the Warden Commander and not let it go that far."

"Torture? No, wait," Shianni whispered urgently. "Let me. This was my fault, I can't let you do this!"

"You might not survive a second taste so soon," Xai said after a single glance at the way she was trembling. "Keep out of it."

But Zevran smiled at her. "I appreciate the offer, my dear, but I will be fine. You can find a way to thank me later if you wish, yes?"

He approached the waiting mage alone. He was not unduly afraid—like all Crows he'd been conditioned to withstand a certain amount of pain, but other than some brief brushes with blood magic during the Blight which Alistair and Asleena had mostly been able to protect him from with their Templar abilities, he'd never been at the full mercy of a maleficar.

Xai's warning rang in his ears. Had it been intended so that the human could revel in Zevran's humiliation and screams, or had it been genuine? Certainly he'd never known the former master to be so…grim. He'd been like that practically since Minrathous came into view.

The magister Ezio regarded him narrowly for a while, then offered Zevran's dagger back, hilt first.

"So kind," the elf murmured, cleaning off the residual blood and returning the blade to its sheath. "Thank you."

Ezio shrugged, flexed his still-bleeding hand and lifted it palm outwards.

"You're welcome."

Then the world disappeared in a flash of excruciating pain that seared through every nerve in his body. Zevran could see nothing but crimson-splattered darkness, _hear _nothing but a shrill buzzing sound, and he had no idea how long it went on before he felt the shock of falling to the ground shudder through his hands and knees.

Consciousness fled as suddenly as a candle flame snuffed by a high wind.


	10. Cages

Zevran regained consciousness and was immediately greeted by an unpleasant throbbing in his skull. Lifting a hand to his brow, he bit back an oath and slitted his eyes open.

"He's moving!" someone hissed from…somewhere nearby. "Tell Taeodor!"

Taeodor…Taeodor…where had he heard that name recently? Zevran grimaced against another dull ache, lowered his arm and stared with bemusement at the metal bars directly above him and the orange stone ceiling beyond. Had they run out of beds at the Ferelden embassy and tossed him into a dog cage?

A thoughtful inhalation through his nose told him that no, he couldn't smell dog. He smelled…

"Ser! Ser Zevran!" a voice called, soft but urgent.

Zevran turned his face.

…slaves.

The Antivan sat up so fast his head spun and a vocal curse escaped him.

The stone chamber was large, windowless, lit by candles in wall sconces, and dominated by ten huge cages and four much smaller ones. Nine of the bigger cells were filled with elves, no more than twelve to a cage, gender separated, and the tenth held male humans. There were no children, and only two cages held women. Of the four considerably smaller cells that were lined up against the wall furthest from a set of double doors, the chamber's only visible exit, Zevran inhabited one and the rest stood empty.

Except for a wooden waste bucket and a blanket, his cell was completely bare.

Taking stock of himself, the assassin mentally added that save for his smallclothes, _Zevran too _was completely bare.

"Ser, it's Taeodor from outside! I'm friends with Shianni's brother Soris!"

_The Circle Tower? What in Andraste's name am I doing here?_

The cage was large enough for one to stand. Zevran attempted this and fought a wave of vertigo, leaning unsteadily against the bars. He ran both palms over his face, pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment in an attempt to regain some focus, then slid his fingers back into his hair and glanced to the Ferelden elf who was still trying to get his attention.

Like the other slaves he was wearing an undyed cotton tunic that reached almost to his knees. His cage was closest to Zevran's, maybe two arm-lengths away.

_Might as well start with the obvious question, hm?_

"What happened?"

"Your master sold you to Magister Ezio," Taeodor said.

"My _mast—?_" Zevran scowled. "The human who was with Shianni and me, yes? Grey leather? Short black hair and beard?"

The other elf nodded while three of his fellows clustered nearby to listen in. Two more stood beyond, casting frequent glances towards the distant door. Zevran kept an eye on it himself and continued to feel his way along his tight blond braids.

"When you passed out," Taeodor said, "Ezio gave the shem an offer—four gold sovereigns if he could take you to the Circle right there and then."

"And what did the human, Xai, say?" Zevran muttered, fingertips pausing, gripping at the heads of two pins and pulling carefully.

"The human…" Taeodor hesitated. "The human haggled him up to _seven_ sovereigns." Meeting Zevran's stare, he mumbled, "Shianni was beside herself. I thought Ezio would set her blood on fire again. Look, what is she doing in the Tevinter Imperium with you? And who exactly _are _you? What's going on? I couldn't understand most of the discussion your human had with the magister, but I caught enough to make it sound like Shianni's some sort of Ferelden dignitary!"

Zevran rolled two tempered pins into his palm and hunkered down by the lock securing his cell door. It looked a little more complex than he was capable of, and his tools could barely be called picks, but…

Sticking them in and feeling around, he said, "Shianni is an envoy of Queen Anora, come here to reclaim the elves illegally smuggled from the Denerim alienage during the Blight. I am…assisting her."

"Sure you are," one of the other elves muttered.

"Never fear." Zevran forced a chuckle. "The human is a Grey Warden and this is all a part of the plan! I am the man on the inside, as it were." He flicked another furtive glance at the door and jammed one of the pins in viciously, his frustration mounting. "Tell me what you can of this place. How big, where the exits are…that sort of thing."

Taeodor began to speak and one of his companions cuffed him. "Are you insane? He could be a plant!"

"You didn't see what happened outside," Taeodor retorted. "I told you what he did! He's not one of their agents!"

"You don't know that for sure!" The elf glared at Zevran, arms crossing. "He says he knows Shianni, so let him prove it."

"Well…" Zevran frowned. "She has a brother Soris—"

"Taeodor said that before!"

"An uncle Cyrion and a cousin Ciela—"

"The Tevinters know that, so of course you would."

The assassin sighed and rocked back on his heels, rubbing his temples again. "Vaughan," he said after a moment. "On Soris' wedding day, Vaughan and his men abducted the bridal party, which included Shianni…and threw a party of his own, as it were."

This made them stare at him in silence. Or avert their gazes and look uneasy.

"Satisfied, my friends?"

"Ciela or Valora could have told—" one ventured, without much conviction, but Taeodor interrupted.

"Get Tor," he told one of his companions quietly, who nodded and walked back through the cage. Taeodor crouched down, one hand curled around a bar. "We're one floor below ground level," he said. "It's easy enough to find the stairs, just through the door on the other side of the next room and to the right. There's at least one floor below us and I _think _there are eight above, but I'm not sure, I've never been above the fifth; we're not allowed. I've heard the sixth is where the really valuable blood slaves are kept, amongst other things. For the price Ezio paid, you probably would have ended up there yourself after being screened."

Zevran's attempts at jimmying the lock paused as he glanced up. "Screened? This is like…putting a horse through its paces, yes? Admiring its gleaming coat, flowing mane, and so forth?"

"Something like that," Taeodor said carefully.

"They put you through some magical tests and try to find your limits," one of the other slaves explained. "Your…breaking point, really. The strong ones are taken upstairs."

"We hear talk," another chimed in. "They're used for the big rituals, all the powerful stuff that would drain us dead in a heartbeat."

Zevran hrmed. "Did anyone from Ferelden impress these magisters so?"

"Only Ciela Tabris and Valdaran Dasu. We haven't seen either one of them since."

"And the rest of you are here?" Zevran asked, looking around.

"No, we're spread out. There are two more chambers like this one on this floor that I know of." Taeodor shifted position as an older elf with a dark Rivaini complexion, long greying black hair and a number of swirling tattoos joined them.

"Kamator," the newcomer introduced himself, and reached an arm through the bars towards Zevran.

"Is shaking hands truly necessary?" Zevran asked dryly. "Under normal circumstances I would not mind, but it will be a literal stretch in our present situation, no?"

"I don't want to shake your sodding hand, Antivan, I want your lockpicks," the man muttered. "Hurry it up."

Zevran pulled the pins from the lock and stretched as far as the bars and his arm would allow so that Kamator could reach them. The Rivaini made an unimpressed sound when he saw what he had to work with, but said, "Be right back," and pressed through the gathered slaves, presumably towards the door of his own cage.

"What's escaping going to achieve?" an elf asked. "If Shianni's here, _officially _here to get us out, wouldn't a jailbreak stir up trouble?"

"You are all staying here," Zevran said, trying to follow the progress of the Rivaini. "I, on the other hand, have places to be." _And possibly a Grey Warden to kill,_ he added darkly to himself. "The exit is one floor up, I presume? Is it guarded?"

"The doors are always open in my experience, but there are two golems," Taeodor said. "They'll try to stop you from leaving if they sense you're not a mage."

"They can't sense you at all if you're not, though," the Rivaini elf, Kamator, grunted when he'd hurried over and crouched by Zevran's door. "So if they don't see you…"

"Much obliged, ser. That is good to know." The Crow observed as his lock was fiddled with, and after a moment of silence he smiled when the faint _click _reached his ears. "Again I am in your debt. Might I interest you in a daring escape?"

The older elf snorted quietly and dropped the hairpins back into Zevran's palm. "Optimistic one, aren't y—"

A noise from the heavy door on the other side of the room silenced him, horror congealing his features as his head whipped around. Kamator took a quick step away towards the door of his cage, but it was too late. The heavy doors were creaking open, voices could be heard and there was a loud snapping sound as one of the other slaves shut the cell he'd come from.

Zevran barely paused to think. He pushed his barred door open, grabbed Kamator's arm and hauled the startled Rivaini into the cage before slamming it shut—with himself on the other side. Ignoring the older elf's curses, he dove out of view of the new arrivals behind Taeodor's cage where the bodies of the slaves would temporarily conceal him. Rolling to a crouch and reaching for his assassins' calm, he cocked his head to listen and waited.

Two colourfully robed women entered the chamber, one young and the other matronly, chattering to each other in Tevinter.

"Mages?" Zevran whispered up at Taeodor and got a silent nod in reply. "I don't suppose you have a weapon or sharp rock handy? No…no…I didn't think so."

So. Two mages, no armour, no weapons. Not the sort of odds Zevran liked to work with. He'd killed a number of people while stark naked, naturally, but a bed or bathtub was usually involved in those situations.

The Crow pressed himself further back, bare hands splaying on the flagstones as the women approached Kamator. When their voices suddenly betrayed confusion he looked up, made a quick decision while they appeared suitably distracted, and breathed a silent prayer. With a hand around the horizontal bar at the top of the cage and a bit of footwork, he slithered over the top of the Taeodor's cell belly-down before moving as fast as he dared to angle his body for minimal visibility.

A height advantage might not be much, but it was better than nothing.

"What," the older mage demanded suddenly in the King's Tongue, "are you doing in there, Kamator? Where's the Antivan elf Magister Ezio brought in?"

Zevran almost held his breath. The room had gone almost completely silent.

"The Antivan's gone," the Rivaini muttered sourly, his eyes on the floor, "as you can clearly see."

"And you are in his cage why?" The woman waited for a reply, frowned, then said, "Don't make me resort to other measures to pry the truth out of you."

Kamator sighed in a resigned sort of way. "I was helping him escape, Alcandre. He managed to get some lockpicks in here because some damn fool didn't check him as thoroughly as they should have. I helped him out, then he _betrayed_ me"—the elf grabbed the bars of his cell and shook them viciously for emphasis— "by shoving me into the cage when he got out!" He raised his voice suddenly and yelled, "Hear me, you sodding Antivan! When they drag you back here by those girly braids of yours—!"

Zevran awarded the other elf full points for acting talent as he swept into a glorious tirade. It was impressive enough that he gave serious thought to the possibility of attempting to flee to the outer room, but then he glanced over the mages and saw the hilt of a dagger peeking out from above the broad blue sash of the older woman.

He grinned tightly and coiled his muscles, positioning his feet against the bars beneath him.

_Perfect_.

"How long ago did the Antivan escape?" the mage was trying to yell over the slave's diatribe, going red in the face from effort. "_Kamator_!"

The Crow launched himself into the air.

There was a squeal of fright from the younger woman as the older crashed down beneath Zevran's weight, then a scream as the dagger flashed free and drove into the mage's throat. The girl ran, tripped and fell heavily when Zevran leaped after her and caught an ankle with blood-smeared fingers, and then the assassin was on top of her with the still-slick blade pressing to her neck, his weight pinning her down, and one finger brushing softly against her lips.

"Shhh…"

The girl went limp but for her trembling, and whimpered at the sound of her companion's death throes as she bled out behind Zevran. The kill hadn't been as clean as he'd intended—he hadn't expected the dagger he now held to be a curved Dalish dar'misu, and that had taken the path of his thrust off-course.

Zevran moved his free hand from the girl's mouth to one of her wrists and got a secure grip, feeling the pulse hammering under her skin. In such _intimate _quarters one didn't need a Templar's skills to have a mage at one's mercy. He may have never taken a contract on a blood mage before, but he had dealt with regular casters from time to time.

At any rate, the commotion did not seem to have caught anyone's attention. Luck was on his side, or so it would appear, but that could vanish at any moment. He was much too exposed here…and in more ways than one.

"Kill her," one of the human slaves said, breaking the stunned silence. "She's a Tevinter mage. Kill her while you can."

The girl sobbed a soft gasp. "No! Please, I can help you!"

"Indeed you can, my dear," Zevran agreed, smiling down at her. "As you have no doubt noticed, I am a little…ah…underdressed." He felt her stiffen in reflexive fear beneath him, but he had no interest in threatening her from that quarter. "Tell me where I might find my equipment."

"You're crazy, knife-ears! She'll betray you!"

"Will you let me live if I tell you?" she whispered, and he chuckled.

"It wouldn't hurt your chances."

He gazed calmly into uncertain green eyes, watched her swallow, then she said, "The next room…one of the cabinets against the wall will have your things. All except…except…"

"Yes?"

"The glowing amber and amethyst r-rings you had on. Alcandre said they were Tevinter artefacts and k-kept them, I told her she shouldn't but she's always pinching things before they're properly catalogued and I'm just an apprentice and she's wearing them under her gloves, now _please_…_please_ I've told you what you wanted to know!"

The watching slaves had started to mutter amongst themselves, and the growing enthusiasm from a number of them for the spilling of more mage-blood was having a marked effect on the girl at Zevran's mercy. Tears of terror were flowing freely down her face.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, half because he wanted to assuage her fear somewhat, and half because her eyes were almost the same shade as Asleena's and he didn't want to look into them when he did what he knew he must.

Zevran was not cruel, or he did not consider himself such, but he _was_ imminently practical. This was enemy territory and it would be reckless to leave someone at his back who could raise the alarm or subdue him with a single spell…

…that's what he told himself. A year ago he wouldn't have even hesitated.

A year ago…a lifetime ago.

_This is no time for going soft and allowing things to get complicated, Zevran. People die._

He sensed relief melt through the slender form beneath his body as he withdrew his weapon.

She didn't even shudder when he slid the blade with expert precision between her ribs and into her heart.

Ignoring the cheers from some of the slaves and the strangely foreign _unclean _feeling the kill had left him with, he returned to the body of the older mage and rifled quickly through robes, retrieving first a heavy collection of keys, which he tossed to the caged Rivaini elf, then the Dawn and Dusk rings, which he returned to his own fingers.

"You didn't say you were an assassin!" Kamator hissed as the Antivan ran quickly on bare and silent feet to the antechamber, dar'misu still in hand.

It looked half storage-room, half office, and true to the apprentice's word his gear was stowed in a large wooden cabinet. Listening hard for any hint of approaching steps from the closed outer door, an exercise in futility thanks to the noise coming from the prison cells, Zevran hurriedly pulled on his clothes, leathers and weapons harness. The dagger he'd stolen he wiped clean, spared a second to appraise its quality with a professional eye, then sheathed at his hip.

Shouldering his pack, he glanced back to the slave cages room in time to see Kamator returning to his own large cell. The Rivaini caught his eye and gave a little jerk of his chin, as though to say 'Get out while you can.'

"Not keen to escape, then?" Zevran called, raising a brow.

The other elf snorted, tossing the keys back towards the mage corpses. "Oh, is _that _what you're doing? I thought you were trying to get yourself killed!"

Zevran only flashed a tight grin and headed for the door. The rising clamour from the cells for release, compassion, more blood, was mercifully cut off when he slipped out into the corridor and closed the heavy portal behind himself, but he had to take a breath and pause a second for the pitiful voices and rattling of metal bars to stop finding an echo in the vaults of his memories…

_Now is not the time for freeing slaves. I…am sorry._

The inattention cost him.

"Going somewhere, knife-ears?"

Zevran's head whipped around and he jerked away from the voice. A human mage, frowning and arrogant-looking, and two red-garbed slaves with oddly vacant expressions stood a short distance away on his left.

There was blood dripping from one of the mage's clenched fists.

A slim blade slipped into the assassin's hand and he snapped his arm forward, sending the gleaming length of steel spinning end over end for the mage's head. He saw the man's eyes widen with shock a fraction of a second before his hand made a minute gesture…and one of the slaves lurched sideways into the path of the flying dagger as though dragged by invisible ropes.

The grey-haired elf's face didn't even register pain when the blade sank between his blue eyes. As he collapsed and bled across the stone floor, the mage's hand thrust outwards in a move like a punch and a stone fist slammed squarely into Zevran's chest, hurling him backwards and knocking him off his feet.

Gasping around bruised ribs and a pounding heart, Zevran sacrificed a second dagger in a deliberately misaimed throw then scrambled to his feet when the mage forced his remaining slave to stand in front of himself.

There was the sound of metal ricocheting off a wall, then of leather boots on stone as the assassin fled for the stairs and the blaze of conjured fire began to paint the corridor in sullen shades of crimson and gold behind him…


	11. Slaves

Zevran ducked sideways between two towering shelves of books, threw his weight against the heavy wood and _heaved _with all his strength. There was a moment of teetering furniture and tomes, then a great rush of things falling into other things like a row of dominoes, coupled with panicked yells and the thud of books tumbling to the floor.

The assassin kept running, his breathing harsh and as quiet as he could manage under the circumstances.

He hadn't succeeded in getting to the exit. Running up the stairs and taking the first landing had seen him ploughing straight into a delegation of startled and heavily armed dwarfs, accompanied by three mages who had swiftly begun to cast at him when they'd heard the shouting from below.

Unable to break through, the Crow had retreated and climbed higher in search of _somewhere _to shake off all the attention he was gathering, and breached the famous Minrathous library—although he hadn't realised this at first. He had seen only marvellous bookcases and towering stacks, and jumped headlong into this vast array of tight corners, hiding places and natural death-traps like a man on fire might leap into a river's flow.

As an added bonus, the mages had stopped hurling magical fire around—either for fear of burning their precious books or incinerating visitors, it didn't matter. It was _good_, if only because the backs of Zevran's arms and legs were already painfully seared. He could feel the ache of blistered and raw skin, and it was starting to _hurt _to keep running as the movements tugged at partially melted flesh.

He slowed as he reached the end of a row, feet touching ground more cautiously, tread perfectly silent, breath coming controlled and soft, sullied blades angled as he listened past the sound of his own thundering pulse…

Zevran _liked _this part of the tower. No more broad stone corridors and staircases that had as much use for concealment as a whore's clothing, nothing but stacks and shelves and wonderful shadows. A clever assassin could hide here for a very long time, if they wished it.

A male voice shouted something in Tevinter, very near, and he tried to catch a glimpse of the speaker in his peripheral vision without completely leaving the row of books he lurked in. Yes…another blood mage, encased in a shimmering shield that resembled heat-haze, with two red-garbed, vacant-eyed slaves in tow.

The assassin sheathed his sword with a whisper of steel, shifted the dar'misu to his right hand and leaned back into his surroundings, fading into the backdrop of ancient leather-bound books and varnished hardwood. He watched the mage creep cautiously past with his staff at the ready. Dark eyes glanced first down the row Zevran was hidden in, then in the other direction. A woman yelled an inquiry from a few shelves away. Someone answered, further off. Then this mage called a reply.

Zevran pounced, clamping a hand around the man's mouth, yanking him backwards out of casual view and stabbing repeatedly at the arcane shield while the mage staff rapped with desperate strength against his skull and teeth bit ineffectually into leather gloves. The struggle ended when magic finally failed to deflect metal, and the body sagged in Zevran's grasp. He grabbed the staff so it wouldn't clatter, lowering the corpse without a noise before he remembered the blood slaves and glanced up.

The elf and human blinked as expression returned to their faces but did not look around like a pair freshly awakened from the Fade; their eyes went straight to Zevran and the dead mage as though they had seen _everything _but simply been unable to react. Zevran raised a swift finger in the universal gesture for silence, and whether it was the sight of someone killing a hated Tevinter mage or the spreading patch of blood on the dead man's robes that did the trick, neither slave made a noise and they both obediently drew closer when the assassin motioned.

"What are they saying?" he whispered when another shout came from somewhere in the library, and someone replied. The slaves looked at each other and shook their heads. One of them whispered a helpless reply in Tevinter.

Zevran repeated himself in Antivan and it was the elf who brightened, despite the circumstances.

"They're looking for visitors, ser, and hustling them out of the library. They're going to lock the doors after to try and seal you in, then send in some of their thralls."

"Their thralls?"

"Blood slaves, ser, but…from upstairs. I hear some of them have been blood-controlled so many times they obey even when the magic's not on them."

Zevran quirked a brow. "But I heard the slaves from upstairs were valuable. Why throw them in here with an assassin on the loose?"

Shoulders lifted in a shrug beneath the red tunic while the human glanced nervously behind them as another call sounded. "I don't know, ser. Maybe…maybe the magisters want to test some new method. But if not, mundane blood is cheaper than mage blood, no?"

A woman's voice shouted, and the elven slave looked down at the dead mage. "They just called for him, ser…"

Zevran rummaged hastily through voluminous purple robes and liberated the corpse of a potion case, checking it for anything useful and finding only a pair of vials with liquids unknown. He took them anyway, on the basis he could always sell them when he got out.

"One more question then, if I may. Is there any way out of here besides the obvious?"

"I…I don't know, ser. We've only ever used the doors."

Well, it had been worth a try. He grinned bracingly at them, stood and executed an elegant bow, marred somewhat by a wince when the movement tugged his burned skin. "Thank you, my dear. If you would be so kind, count to five before bringing the mages their fallen brother."

"You're just going to leave us here?"

"Oh? Do wish to be lingering when those thralls you mentioned arrive, my dear?"

The elf bit her lip and looked away.

"I am sorry," Zevran said quietly, the words sounding unfamiliar to his ears even though they were in his native tongue, and he vanished back into the stacks.

* * *

He shadowed the slaves on their way to one of the doors, burdened as they were by the corpse of their former master, and watched from a safe position as the face of the dead mage was checked, the slaves scrutinised then let out. A pair of mages and a horned qunari in white plate kept watch over the nearby bookcases as everyone leaving the library was inspected and questioned, many of them presenting tokens before being permitted to leave.

Zevran studied the qunari for a moment, wondering if this was one of the thralls. He was carrying an exceptionally large axe and there was the Imperial Chantry's symbol on the breastplate, though splashed in crimson against the white metal rather than the other slaves' combination of gold-on-red. There also seemed to be a large tattoo on one side of his bronze-skinned face…or was it a glyph? It was a glowing white pattern, and while it was too far to make out any details to the design, when the qunari's head turned towards him Zevran could see that the warrior's eyes, too, were shining white.

He felt a shiver travel down his spine when that glowing gaze remained staring in his direction, and pulled back out of view.

So the mages were sending in overly large muscles to deal with an assassin? Zevran shrugged mentally and crept into the library's depths. All he had to do was avoid detection until they gave up, not trip into whatever trap they were plotting, then wait for his chance. He was positive that once things returned to normal he could bluff or sneak his way out. They couldn't keep this magnificent library of theirs closed forever, could they?

Locating a good niche to secrete himself in, he pulled out one of his emergency poultices, soaked a bandage in the stuff and began to tend his burns, gritting his teeth against the pain.

* * *

Maybe half an hour had passed before he'd heard the echo of doors being shut around the library, and a further hour went by but for the quiet sounds of footsteps echoing in the still air. It was the kind of silence librarians only _dreamed _about.

Zevran continued to wait, folded into a comfortable position and fallen back to his assassin training of clenching and relaxing muscles to avoid cramps. It felt like ages since the last time it had been necessary to stay so still for so long, but some things you never forgot how to do. He passed the time by quietly going through his poisons, bombs and limited salves for anything useful, then perusing the spines of books on the nearby shelves—although this turned out to be pointless, considering nothing was in a language he could read. He 'borrowed' something that looked of Dalish origin anyway, and stowed it in his pack.

At least another hour passed before he glimpsed one of the thralls: a black-haired elven man in white mail carrying a dar'misaan and Dalish shield. Zevran watched carefully as the other elf began to walk past the row of shelves leading to his hiding spot, but the thrall abruptly stopped in his tracks, lifted his head as though sniffing, then turned shining white eyes to look unerringly at Zevran's place of concealment.

_What…? Can he actually smell me?_

Zevran _knew _he stank—he hadn't bathed since disembarking _The_ _Royal Sail, _there was blood on him, and he bore the lingering aromas of healing herbs and burnt flesh, but from that far away and with no air movement to carry his scent—

The dark-haired elf remained still for a moment longer, then lifted his head again and shouted a word, which was answered by the sound of distant footsteps becoming rapidly less distant.

Making a decision to strike while the odds were still on his side, Zevran darted out and charged. The thrall saw him coming and readied his shield, curved sword swinging back as he crouched, and the sounds of ringing metal filled the library's air. Zevran circled the armoured man, feinting back and forth to try and get past his guard, but the elf wasn't even _trying _fight back; he kept his shield at the fore and his defence tight, a tactic that would never win any melee but served as a _very effective delay. _

Zevran quickly saw this, gave up and decided to run for it, putting his trust into speed and a thrown-down shock bomb to temporarily hide him from view. It might have worked too, had not the qunari thrall appeared in the direction he chose to flee. Zevran skidded to a halt as soon as he saw the warrior, cursed and changed course, blood pounding in his ears and the qunari's shout calling the hunt.

If some magic was helping the thralls track him, which was all his brain could come up with at this point, then hiding wouldn't work. He had to break out of the containment…back where the mages were. That or try to kill these thralls, followed by anyone else the mages decided to send in…any of whom could be elves Shianni had come to rescue.

_This is _not _going to be pleasant._

Ducking and weaving through a series of shelves, he drew to a quietly panting stop when he thought he had a decent lead on his pursuers and strung a hasty tripwire between the lower shelves of two bookcases before dancing back as the dark-haired elf appeared once more. Zevran backed away in an attempt to taunt the other man closer, played up a show of fatigue, and the elf drew closer for every backwards step, then…

…tripped.

The assassin sprang when the other man fell flat on his face with a crash of arms and armour, sword flashing down for the back of an exposed neck…and then the thrall lay dead, his head rolling gently to one side.

Zevran hurriedly wiped his sword clean before returning it to its sheath, grabbed the abandoned dar'misaan from the floor and whirled when he heard someone—_the qunari_—approaching from behind.

"One of you lies dead," Zevran said in Antivan, voice hitching from lack of breath, "and I don't know about you, but I could go on like this all day!"

The qunari gave no indication he understood or cared, but gave voice to another shattering yell and the Crow once more turned to flee for a more favourable battlefield, but this time there was an elf in the way: a female elf with blonde hair, twin Imperial Edges and flowing white leathers that caused Zevran to feel an actual shiver of racial disgust at viewing, for the distinctive silvery sheen to the armour could only mean it had been made from halla hide.

Like the qunari, her face was marked with a glowing design. Dozens of thin lines encircled her right eye in a pattern that put Zevran in mind of a skeleton leaf, where green flesh had long-since withered away and left only an intricate network of veins.

Judging his chances better against her than a fully-armoured qunari warrior, Zevran pulled a book at random from the shelf beside him and hurled it at the woman's head before jumping to the attack, hoping a quick disabling thrust or clever feint would allow him to slip past and prepare another trap elsewhere.

She ducked to avoid the book.

Zevran _flew _at her, lashing out with his stolen sword on the way past to encourage her to stay down.

The Imperial Edges she wielded came up, scissoring against one another to catch Zevran's blade between their serrated teeth and jerking the assassin off balance as he kept instinctive hold of the hilt.

There was a shrieking sound and a sharp _crack _as the Edges ripped in opposite directions, tearing Zevran's sword asunder, and then he was being forced backwards by a flurry of aggressive blows and pressed to defend himself with dagger and broken blade. Stunned, shaken, and fighting for his _life _all of a sudden, he dared not lower his guard to retreat but fought back for all he was worth, tearing a gash _here_, suffering one _there_, until he felt a looming presence behind him and spun in a desperate whirlwind of shattered metal and torn leather.

The heavy flat of the qunari's axe cracked against Zevran's skull, and he dropped like a stone.

* * *

He felt, distantly to be sure, his body rolled onto his stomach and his wrists bound behind him, then his pounding head was wrenched sharply back by the hair as he was straddled and pinned down. A woman's voice hissed something into his left ear.

"What was…?" Zevran asked groggily. "I don't…urgh…"

"I said 'hold still!'" the elven woman snapped in Ferelden. "We're disarming you. Try anything and you'll be breathing through your neck."

Zevran lay quietly for a few brain-throbbing seconds, one side of his face now pressed firmly against the ground, before the hands questing through his armour and divesting him of various sharp-edged implements inclined him to comment on the proceedings.

"You know…the last time a deliciously strong woman had me at her mercy, tied up and so forth, we very nearly ended up making love."

"Only nearly?"

Zevran grunted as he was flipped over, and clenched his jaw as his hands were ground into the floor and his own injured back by the weight of the woman atop him. He blinked at the sight of her face, for the white glow had vanished from the blue-sheened lines of ink, and her eyes were so curious a shade as to be almost lavender.

"Was this woman blind?" the woman asked, taking the daggers from his belt and tossing them aside with barely a glance. "You're not bad-looking."

"Ah, a compliment from such lovely lips—"

"Any more weapons?" she interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"Any more weapons?" the woman repeated patiently. "You were stripped to your smallclothes when you were brought in, or so I was informed, yet you managed to escape, kill one of the lower jailkeepers _and_ her assistant."

Zevran tried for a grin even while his wrists burned pain beneath him. "Always keep something hidden where people are unwilling to look, that is all I can say."

"Indeed." She crossed her arms against his chest as though making herself comfortable, heedless of the blood staining one of them where Zevran had cut her. She tilted her head at him. "So what you're _saying _is that you stow lockpicks in your underwear? Or do you keep a weapon down there as well?"

"My dear, is this a trick question? You simply look so serious."

"I'm sorry." She smiled. _Sweetly._ "Do you…have any sort of deadly weapon sheathed in your smallclothes?"

"Naturally I do, but—"

Quick as a flash, one arm reached back and a hand _grabbed_. Nails dug through cloth and into sensitive flesh, drawing a sharp, pained hiss from between Zevran's teeth.

Smiling wider, but a great deal less sweetly, the woman leaned down until their lips almost brushed and asked in a silken purr, "Shall I remove it, then?"

"I would prefer…that you did not. I am rather…ah…_attached_ to it, you see, and as I was about to say, my dear lady, that…weapon…is more for loving than fighting, yes?"

There was a brief, _agonising _second after that remark when he feared she actually intended to carry through with her threat, but she let him go and got off him, turning to say something to the hitherto silent qunari and two more white-garbed thralls who seemed to have arrived while Zevran had been…preoccupied.

The assassin shifted position to alleviate the pain in various parts of his body, then, figuring he had nothing to lose at this point, hazarded a guess. "Ciela Tabris?"

They ignored him.

"Only I've come to the Imperium with her cousin Shianni," Zevran continued, hoping name drops would elicit a response. "Soris is alive and well, if that means anything, rescued from the Arl of Denerim's own dungeon..."

The blonde gave him a quick, surprised glance, but her lips pressed closed when the qunari approached Zevran in a couple of swift strides, hauled him ungently to his feet and began to frogmarch him through the library.

"I counsel silence from this point onwards, elf," the giant rumbled above him. "Unless you would prefer to be carried out unconscious."

* * *

A babble of Tevinter greeted his ears when the library door was opened. Zevran was fast growing sick of hearing a language he couldn't understand. There were mages, there were the dwarfs from downstairs arguing with them and each other, and there were slaves trying to keep out of the way but still look like they were attending their masters.

At the sight of the apprehended assassin, several robed individuals rushed into the library at speed as though expecting to find the whole place on fire. Zevran himself was kicked to his knees on the stone floor and left there, the four thralls striding silently around him and to the sides of five magisters standing a little apart from the argument in the corridor. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the four knelt and had their hair caressed like good hounds returned from a successful hunt, but the fifth magistra, who had no thrall before her, spat out a curse and levelled her staff at Zevran's head.

At this point Zevran gave up his pretence of not watching and tried to throw himself backwards into the library again—it was that or have his face taken off by a fireball—but found himself suddenly lifted up into the air by magic, floating gently…and then the air itself closed around him from all sides, unyielding as stone, grinding bone against creaking bone, organ against collapsing organ so that he was being squeezed, _crushed—_

The pressure vanished. He landed flat on the floor, gasping for air and trembling with pain, and for some reason all he could think was: _Why? _

"I was told the Tower was prepared to sell slaves," a haughty, female and Ferelden voice was stating. "I have decided! I want that one. The Tower wants lyrium, it knows I can deliver, do we have a bargain?"

"You expressed no interest in slaves before now, my lady," a Tevinter-accented voice protested. "In fact, you said you consider the practise repellent! This elf is obviously dangerous, and was brought in personally by a magister for no less than seven sovereigns!"

"What is that to me?" The woman, an armoured dwarf now that Zevran had uncurled enough to try and catch a glimpse of her, put gauntleted hands to hips and lifted her chin disdainfully. "Lyrium is of more use to the mages than gold, no? Trade me this slave and the Tower will have the funds to buy a hundred more like it."

"_All _your lyrium," the magistra who'd attacked Zevran demanded, her eyes seething with anger. "That elf cost me a valuable servant. It will take months to condition another to such high susceptibility."

"_Half _my lyrium," the dwarf countered, ignoring the appalled protests of her companions. "For one elf in sore need of healing that should more than suffice."

The magistra glowered at Zevran, but nodded curtly. "So be it." Without another word, she stalked into the library with a sweep of black silk robes.

"Lovely. Someone do pick up my new purchase, or carry it or whatever. Oh, and for the price I just paid, return the slave's equipment. That's mine too now, is it not?"

Swords, daggers and backpack were handed over to a sullen dwarf warrior, while two more helped Zevran off the floor and steadied him, but they didn't remove the bindings from his wrists.

The dwarf woman dusted her hands briskly and beamed. "Splendid. Shall we be off then?"

Zevran, slightly recovered from his brush with death-by-compaction and somewhat relieved that he seemed to be getting away from the mages, even if it was still as a slave, finally managed to find his voice. "Ah…mistress? I would be able to serve your whims much more effectively if my hands were untied. Also, it would make the stairs easier to navigate."

"Perhaps," the dwarf agreed amiably. "But it would be best if the bindings remained while we are still within the Tower. The mages might get all worried, otherwise. Assassins make them aware they are not immortal after all." She sniffed, then gave Zevran a sidelong smirk. "Besides, I seem to recall the painted elf having a _fondness_ for chains and rope."

"Painted…?"

Zevran blinked in astonishment, staring down at the woman whom he'd only ever known as a great lumbering golem, then tried to recover with as elegant a bow as he could pull off.

"Well, then! Mistress." He raised his head, golden eyes gleaming, and smiled at the amused expression before him. "As you desire, yes?"

"Yes," Shayle agreed, still grinning ear to ear. "On, then."

Zevran followed, the dwarfs surrounding him like a personal guard and two mages in tow, but he glanced back once where he'd last seen Ciela Tabris and the other thralls. The white-clad slaves were following their masters in the opposite direction. _She _looked back as well, her eyes finding Zevran's, her face at once questioning and dismayed, then the stone of the tower walls were between them and Zevran returned to concentrating on making his bruised body walk without stumbling as he followed Shayle downstairs.

_Shayle!_

Zevran grinned to himself again, feeling light-headed with relief.

He couldn't _wait _to talk to her.


	12. Flesh and Stone

_Author's Note: To those wondering at the inclusion of a 'y' in Shayle's name, this was how her name was spelled when she was a dwarf according to The Stone Prisoner. :) As usual, thanks for reading! Hopefully I've gotten our resident golem/dwarf sounding mostly like herself._

* * *

"So…is this anything like how you looked before you became a golem?" Zevran asked.

"How should I know? If the painted elf has forgotten, I will remind it that my memory is not the best. I had to rely on the Grey Wardens to discover I was once a dwarf, let alone female, so whether or not I had black hair and brown eyes seems a minor detail compared to having all the right bits, no?"

"And what lovely bits they are, if I may be so bold."

The villa stood in the inner city. They were guest accommodations according to Shayle, guest accommodations that the mages provided to those they wanted to impress or get something out of. It was a magnificent place in Zevran's opinion, he who approved of fine things and high living when such things could be had, and more sumptuous than any lodgings Ferelden could have offered. The walls were fashioned of a pale gold stone, the many rooms spacious and furnished with expensive creations of honey-coloured wood upholstered in white, and tended at all times by house slaves.

They were in the atrium now, and Zevran lay stomach down on a flat bed with the sunlight warming his bare back and drying his hair as one such slave stitched a wound on his shoulder blade closed. He'd already had his burns dressed and the chance to bathe in the balneum, and while he felt better just for the hot water and soap he privately admitted his head and _insides_ were still aching from the qunari's axe and that last bit of magic in the Tower. He hoped sleep would remedy this, as he'd had enough of Tevinter mages for one day and Shayle had told him that Wynne was no longer with her, departed for the south some time prior. A pity, that. He might have even foregone complimenting her bosom for a caster he knew he could trust.

Shayle Cadash herself was, as had been noted, a dwarf and a woman. Short black hair was tied back into a simple tail revealing chestnut eyes in a surface-tanned but unbranded face. She even had a light smattering of freckles over her nose. Zevran would not have called her beautiful by his usual standards, but there was something unusually compelling about her he couldn't put his finger on. Maybe it was knowing what she'd once been, he mused, and recognising the stone that, in some way, still lived beneath the flesh.

But she was pleasingly rounded in all the right places, he had to admit (and admire), and with muscle to her frame that suggested she was fully capable of swinging that giant hammer she was carrying around.

Beauty and strength were always a tantalising combination for the Antivan elf.

Shayle snorted at his last comment and lascivious smile. "_It_ is as bad as the drunken dwarf we once travelled with. Just because I am smaller and squishier than I once was, don't think for a moment I can't crush its skull to rid it of unwanted mental images."

Zevran laughed, causing the servant working on his shoulder to pause for a moment. "As you say, but you are a woman of flesh and blood now, yes? Have you not felt any…womanly urges?"

Shayle's dark brows lifted. "Does it refer to my newly acquired monthly desire to brutally slaughter everyone in my immediate vicinity?"

"Ah…" Zevran hesitated. "Perhaps another time for that discussion, yes? You have been a dwarf for months now, by that remark? How long has it been since your transformation? Not long enough for you to stop referring to people as 'it', I notice."

"Yes, centuries-old habits die hard, don't they? I daresay I will grow out of it. Or not. It may depend on how long I live." Shayle relaxed into her chair, putting her booted feet up on a cushioned stool. "I have been a dwarf for…roughly three months, I think? Before that it was endless tests and trials and talks about how I could be restored—some of these mages never shut their traps. If Wynne hadn't been there for most of that I would have been tempted to crack skulls together. Not that I wasn't tempted, mind, but I might have actually _tried _it."

"Why did she leave, if I may ask? I would have assumed the two of you to depart together. Or did you tire of each other's company?"

Shayle shook her head. "No. Wynne became…uncomfortable here after a time. At first she"—and Zevran noted with amusement that _Wynne _was honoured with a pronoun, just as Asleena was—"said she was enjoying the change in scenery and fresh perspectives. She even took to a group of younger mages. There are two of them wandering around the villa somewhere, keeping an eye on me at her request I suspect."

"So what happened?"

"Like I said, she became uncomfortable. I think it was a combination of two things: Her _condition_, that spirit within her, yes? She was concerned that it might be attracting attention from unwanted quarters."

Zevran nodded. In some circles Wynne might be called an abomination, though the line between spirit and demon was a fuzzy philosophical one he didn't care to ponder. He knew little of magic, but had seen enough during the Blight to have picked up that spirits (as opposed to demons) involving themselves with mortals was rare, and someone like Wynne who shared a symbiotic bond with one might be viewed as a curiosity or, at the other end of the spectrum, a laboratory experiment to be cut open and fiddled with.

"And the other thing?" he prompted.

"The blood magic," Shayle said. "As time progressed and other ideas came to naught, the mages became quite sure that I could only be restored to living flesh and flowing blood by magic that could effectively _manipulate_ blood. It made sense to me, even Wynne agreed to the logic of it in the end, but she was…extremely unhappy at the prospect. She detests blood magic, she says it's vile and wrong, and she said she couldn't be a party to it." The dwarven woman looked pensive for a moment as Zevran watched her silently. "She was apologetic about her views, but firm that she could not remain for the ritual. To be honest I am not sure how to take that. Does this mean she will despise me for going through with it? Should I have remained a golem forever?" Before Zevran could decide a suitable reply, a disparaging remark on Wynne's sense of right and wrong, or change the paths of the conversation into something easier to navigate, Shayle said, "It is not like any of the slaves involved suffered needlessly. They all lived, or so I was assured, and the ritual was successful."

"What do you mean?" Zevran asked, his ears pricking at the mention of slaves. "What did this ritual entail, precisely?"

"Oh, the usual. Flashy words and bright lights. A magic circle with me standing in the middle doing my famous impression of Honnleath town square statuary." She snorted. "But if it is amused by such details, I was permitted to select a new body, which is a story in itself, then it and I were taken up to one of the higher levels of the Tower to a wide, circular room with enough candles burning to light a Chantry. There were mages, and blood slaves in white like the ones who caught you in the library."

"Thralls."

"Yes. Well, golem and dwarf were in the middle of some magic pattern, the magisters drew power from the thralls' blood and then…how do I explain it? One moment I was standing up and solid as stone can be, the next I was…_breathing_. And noticing how cold and stiff I felt. And…" She trailed off, staring up at the daylight streaming into the atrium, and shook her head. "And…any number of things I hadn't felt in a long time." She shook herself a bit, then added, "I must say it seemed a much more pleasant experience than going from dwarf to golem."

The former Crow cocked his head. "You remember that, do you?"

"I…no. Not precisely." Brown eyes became distant. "I know what the process was, thanks to Asleena, but…remember it? I…just recall there was pain. Agonising pain."

Zevran decided to steer away from that. Nodding to the slave who had finished stitching him up, he stretched his mended shoulder carefully and said, "What of that golem shell of yours then? Did the mages keep it?"

Shayle scowled. "That _thing_ would be the bane of my existence if it wasn't for the fact that it _was _my existence for a goodly stretch of time. No, I still have the shell, but the mages circle it like a flock of carrion birds, constantly inviting me to their Tower in the hopes of cozening me into parting with it. 'Shayle, do come and dine with us tonight!' 'Shayle, we are having a ball! Please accept this dress and join us for the evening.' Faugh!" She sat up straighter, sparks of irritation practically spitting from her eyes. "I can't decide what's worse: _that _pile of pigeon crap, or my old master's orders of 'Golem! Fetch me a lamp!' At least _it _never tried to _butter_ me."

"Butter you?" Light dawned. "Ah. You mean butter you _up_?"

"What is the difference? Either way it conjures an image of being smothered with a thick yellow paste that originated from the dangling appendages of a cow. Why this is supposed to indicate a method of _enticement _is beyond me."

"Perhaps…it is something to do with lubrication?" Zevran suggested delicately.

"Urgh."

He grinned at her. "But why do they want your former body so badly?" he asked, returning to the topic. "Not that it wasn't a fine figure of a body, I might add. I certainly wouldn't mind being hard as a rock every day."

It was hard to tell whether that went over the dwarf's head or not, for she gave him a strange look. "The painted elf is not aware of the golem-making process?" When Zevran shrugged to indicate his ignorance, Shayle got to her feet. "Come, then. I will _show_ it why they are so intent on claiming the shell."

Zevran followed her through a couple of adjoining rooms, still shirtless and inwardly enjoying the covert stares some of the slaves gave him as they passed. Before long he and Shayle were in a practically bare room, its most prominent feature the towering and inert golem that had once been 'Shale'. Two male dwarves were bustling around it with chisels and hammers, but they left off what they were doing when Shayle entered and stood back respectfully. She introduced them to Zevran, then directed his attention to the large cavity that had been cracked across the golem's chest.

"There. What does it notice?" she asked.

Zevran narrowed his eyes…then widened them. The grey stone shell had been chipped away to reveal a glowing blue crystal beneath.

"Lyrium!"

"Indeed. Suffice to say the mages want my dusty grey corpse for the shiny blue centre hidden within."

"So this is what you meant when you bartered for my life with lyrium!" Zevran laughed suddenly. "And here I was thinking you had turned to black market smuggling or some other such shady living."

"Not in the least. Although some nations consider ripping out the innards of corpses and selling them to be 'black market', do they not? Strange parallels abound."

"Are all golems like this on the inside?"

"Oh yes. It is a part of the process, according to Caridin's journals. He made the outer shells of stone or steel hollow, so a living dwarf could crawl within. This done, molten lyrium would be poured into the inert golem. It killed the dwarf, naturally, bound its spirit to the golem, and made the shell malleable for refinement on the Anvil of the Void. And the result?" She smiled humourlessly. "Instant immortal slave, so long as the control rod remains intact."

Zevran's mirth had vanished and his imagination practically shut down after presenting him with what it might have felt like to be completely engulfed and killed in a flow of white-hot liquid lyrium. He had been subjected to many different methods of torture in his lifetime, physical and psychological, but that was…something else completely. He found himself staring at the silent golem standing against the wall, the beautiful and luminous crystals glowing at heart, open mouth, eye sockets…his mind playing over all the soft and fleshy parts of the body that would have been seared away to nothing, consumed in a moment of pure pain…

"The mages already knew golem shells contain lyrium, of course," Shayle went on. "They once had many guarding Minrathous, back when the dwarves were willing to sell us—_them_, I should say, but most of the juggernauts are broken now and have long since been cracked open and scooped out since they cannot be repaired."

"If this…" Zevran waved a hand at the staring shell, "is bringing so much attention from the mages, attention you do not want, why hold on to it? Even a small amount of lyrium fetches a high price here, no? Greater than diamonds, or so I'm told. You could make quite the killing and live like royalty."

"It's the principle of the thing," Shayle muttered, a touch of reluctance audible in her voice as her arms folded. "_That _was my body for centuries. I…I find I am still rather attached to it."

"But you have parted with some of it for my benefit."

"Well, as entertaining as it might have been watching Magistra Phaedra crush the painted elf until it popped like an overripe tomato and squirted fluids everywhere, one recalled it was an…adequate travelling companion. Despite it being a 'crow' it kept its defecations to itself. Most considerate."

"Uh…you're welcome?"

"It was also a friend of the Grey Warden's," Shayle continued more enthusiastically. "Did it not leave Denerim in her company? I seem to remember the bard claiming some sort of search for the other Warden who vanished after the Landsmeet. Is that why it is in Minrathous? Is Asleena here too?"

Zevran shook his head. "Alas, no, but if you wish I could share the story of our travels as you have shared yours. It is quite the tale if I do say so myself."

"Hm." Shayle looked a little disappointed at this but inclined her head and motioned for him to follow. "Very well. And then it can tell me why it was running amok in the Minrathous Circle Tower. Seeing the mages flap around in a panic like a flock of gaudily coloured parakeets was the most entertainment I've had in weeks! Did it kill many of them?"

"Two or three."

"Really? The painted elf must be losing its touch, surely."

"I will be better prepared next time," Zevran said with a lazy smile. "But before then I think I should visit the Grey Wardens Headquarters and the Ferelden Embassy."

"Oh? I know where both of these places are located."

"I rather hoped you would. But let's not announce our impending arrival beforehand, hm?" The assassin's smile widened like a wolf's. "There is someone I would very much like to surprise."

* * *

_Author's Note #2 - For those interested, I have also just posted a short story about Shayle becoming a golem, which was until recently only available on LJ. You can find it via my profile, under the title "Becoming Stone"._


	13. Predator and Prey

With the exception of a brief trip into the city, Zevran chose to rest for the remainder of the day and wait for nightfall to infiltrate the embassy. With Shayle's help and dressed plainly he had already cased both that location and the Grey Warden compound from the outside, and spying Shianni at the door of the embassy had decided Zevran's mind on where he would find Xai Merras. The red-haired elven lass had been sitting in a chair by the door when Shayle and Zevran passed by the grounds, looking as anxious as a wife waiting for her husband's return from war.

Zevran had also noticed that the Ferelden love of dogs had carried over into the Imperium; guards patrolling the courtyard of the embassy did their rounds in the company of mabari, which were a more troublesome obstacle than the soldiers themselves. The magically-bred animals would spot, scent or hear him much more quickly than a human or elven guard, they could raise the alarm with a single howl, outrun him and overwhelm him. The former Crow somewhat doubted he'd be able to bribe the dogs to look the other way with a few tasty morsels of dried meat or mabari crunch, though the _guards _might be fooled by such a thing. If elves were considered good for anything, it was making menial deliveries. For that reason there was a small box of melted cheese-topped double baked treats by the door, prepared by a Ferelden-born slave who had once worked for Fort Drakon's Kennel Master no less.

Could he have just walked in, called on Shianni to verify who he was and avoided all this? Naturally he could, but where was the fun in that? Besides, as soon as any of the Fereldens at the embassy knew he was there, Xai would find out. What Zevran wanted was to get the drop on the master assassin, and he _especially _wanted to savour doing so. Just thinking about it made his lips curve in predatory anticipation and that thrill-of-the-hunt sensation coil in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't felt quite like this since his Crow days, when planning the move on some challenging mark.

His weapons and equipment were currently laid out across the lavishly embroidered bedspread in the room Shayle had dubbed his, and he went over them with a critical eye. Somehow the broken dar'misaan he'd liberated from the elven thrall he'd slain had ended up in his possession; an ornate hilt with about a foot of curved blade that ended in a twisted wreck, and the rest of the blade _here_…

He picked the two pieces up in either hand, pondering if the weapon could be repaired. The balance and elegant design of the sword made it looked _worth _saving, and there was a scrawl of flowing elven runes all the way along the outside edge, the kind of thing the Dalish clans would no doubt love to examine as part of their stolen history.

Zevran hummed to himself, closed his eyes and replayed how it had been broken in his mind: the twin Imperial Edges coming up to snag the blade between a double row of serrated teeth then jerking hard against it, twisting and snapping the metal…

Xai owned a pair of Imperial Edges. Zevran had never seen the man employ this particular move, but the Tevinter assassin had always given the impression of keeping many of his secrets closely guarded. Perhaps in the expectation he might need such advantages at some point in the future. An ace up the sleeve, as one might say.

The Antivan smiled to himself again, and laid the broken sword aside.

What else?

His own sword and off-hand dagger enchanted with paralysis and silverite (and he made a mental note to find someone able to replace the latter runes with dweomers, considering he'd be up against more mages than darkspawn for a time), a diminished collection of throwing knives, ground pepper scrounged from the villa's kitchen and turned into small bombs that might deter any mabari, his repaired leather armour…

Zevran's eyes fell last upon the dar'misu he'd stolen from the jailkeeper before killing her with it. Dragonbone, he noted while running appraising fingertips down the blade, and as elegant a design as the sword, though not as embellished. Only a few small runes marked it, and Zevran cocked his head when he found he recognised one of them…though last time he'd seen it etched in stone, upon the statue of a wolf. He angled the weapon against the fading light coming in through a window and tried to recall the fractured pieces of Dalish lore he had never held much interest in.

_Fen'harel_._ The Dread Wolf. The Trickster._

Galahan had spoken of this Dalish god in an undertone once, back in Highever, while he and Zevran had watched Xai train with the Warden Commander and been mid-speculation on the man's loyalties as a Crow Master and as a Grey Warden:

"_Do you know of Fen'harel, Zevran? The Trickster is one of the gods of the People._

"_Elgar'nan, Mythal and the other gods of heaven saw him as a brother, kin by blood. But Fen'harel's ways were wily and cunning, and because of this the Forgotten Ones, the abyssal gods of terror and malice, they considered him kin as well due to his nature. _

"_The gods of both heaven and the abyss saw him as one of their own and trusted him, and so were both sides betrayed by him because the Dread Wolf's loyalties were, as they all discovered too late, to none but himself."_

_Crepi il lupo, _Zevran thought to himself, his smile turning grim. He sheathed the Dalish dagger and added it to his belt, then picked up the box by the door and headed outside.

_May the wolf choke on me._

_

* * *

_

_Sound_.

The soft tread of leather-soled boots against stone tiles, then the scrape of a metal key in a lock. Brass hinges gave a quiet creak as the door opened.

_Light_.

A rectangle of candlelight spilled into the night-darkened room, silhouetting the Warden on the threshold and painting his shadow across the thick Ferelden rug lying on the floor.

_Smell…_

The human carried a tray of food to the table that stood atop the rug, a metal spoon and knife rattling against each other at the movement, and the delicious aroma of fresh bread, butter, and a steaming soup that scented of pumpkin and herbs filled the room like a cloud. Typical of a former Crow to fetch his own repast rather than risk being served poison…

_Darkness._

Even though flint and steel rested on the table beside a fresh taper, Xai closed and locked the door without lighting it first. Pale moonlight streaming through a far window near bed and vanity was enough to see by and sink the room into shades of black and grey, but night-vision had to reassert itself after the brightness of the corridor.

_Patience_.

_There is more to the first strike than merely waiting for the mark's back to be turned and his guard lowered. You can wait until he merely isn't expecting to be attacked, or persevere until a moment of weakness, of vulnerability, tips the scales irrevocably in your favour._

_Even assassins need to disrobe, eat, sleep, wash, crap…even assassins get tired and slip up, mistaken in the belief that they are ever completely safe..._

In the shadows near the bed, there was the clicking of buckles and the rasp of leather. A few indistinct thuds and a glint of moonlight on metal heralded the swords dropping to blankets, followed by gloves, bracers, breastplate and tunic.

As the food on the table cooled further, the human crossed to the vanity and the bowl of water resting below the mirror. He washed his hands, splashed his face, dried his skin with a towel then braced his hands against the wood for a moment while avoiding his own gaze in the looking glass. When he set the dampened cloth aside his body shifting a little to more fully face the glass. Moonlight streaked lines across his chest and glinted against spidery lines of shiny blue ink…

In the darkness, amber eyes narrowed.

_Words._

"_Mar toh mhero tara_."

Spoken with a note of authority, like a _command_. The Warden's fingers tensed around the rim of the vanity as though for support.

"_Mati go mhero_."

Xai's face lifted from the water bowl to the silvered surface of the mirror, but his eyes were shut.

"_Harth_."

Lids and black lashes lifted. Assassin and reflection stared at one another.

The last word was repeated, more softly and drawn out…

"_Harth_…"

But this time he didn't move, save for a thinning of his lips that almost went unnoticed in the night.

"_His ma_ _vansk._"

Steel flashed. Glass split. Xai stepped back from the mirror, his dagger protruding from the glass and surrounded by a jagged web of cracks that threw back the moonlight in stark white lines. A few errant shards tinkled against the wooden top of the vanity, or plinked into the basin. He gazed at the fractured image a short while longer, teeth bared, before turning away and muttering something too softly to be understood.

He crossed towards the table…

…leaving his swords on the bed.

_Silence._

Zevran materialised behind the Grey Warden like a wraith, every footfall perfectly timed with the human's to mask unwanted sound, sword and dagger angled so as to not catch the light, eyes watching the exposed back of his prey for any tell-tale shift of muscle beneath flesh.

They were only a step away from the table when Zevran saw the minute warnings, the subtle shadow-play of pale light over skin, and _ducked _as the human spun, hand sending a streak of steel whizzing through the space the elf's head had formerly occupied.

_Smile_…

Zevran laughed softly, half crouched, sword arm extended and ready in the face of Xai's drawn boot daggers.

"For a moment there I thought this would be too easy," the elf practically purred, enjoying the other man's expression of surprise at seeing his opponent's identity. "I am pleased to be wrong, however. I was hoping for a little fight to get the blood pumping."

"Zevran," Xai said in a tone of…what? Disbelief? Horror? The Warden's eyes flicked to the dagger in the mirror then back to Zevran in a flash, but his defensive stance did not waver.

"Hm, yes, what was that about?" Zevran chuckled, straightening slowly. "Do you know how tired I have become hearing things I do not know the meaning of, Xai Merras? So what did they mean, those words…what were they? _His ma_ _vansk._"

The Crow Warden lunged at him, one dagger parrying the sword as the other surged up towards Zevran's throat, and this obvious intent to make the kill was _exactly_ what Zevran had hoped to see…for it meant he could relate the former master's tragic death to Asleena Cousland with a completely clean conscience.

Being proven right was just a bonus.

Elf and human struggled in the dark room, the lashing of blades and boots in blackness familiar to any Crow worth his tattoos, and not once did Xai try to call for guards; maybe he wanted the personal pleasure of Zevran's death as much as Zevran wanted his. Even with the disadvantages of shorter weapons and no armour above the waist, the former master should have been far cry from an easy conquest. Zevran had observed his fighting style enough to know Xai's defensive techniques were vastly superior to his own, but this night the human seemed to have lost all sense of self-preservation. He threw himself at the blond assassin with single-minded purpose, dark eyes barely registering pain as Zevran's sword tore crimson stripes across his body, or even satisfaction when one of his daggers slashed the elf across the face.

At that point Zevran threw a pepper bomb at the Warden's feet, sucking in a gulp of fresh air and leaping backwards before it hit the floor and exploded. A black cloud sprayed up into the human's face and eyes, and in the midst of the choking and blindly-swinging blades, Zevran circled around behind his mark with a cold, detached step and brought the edge of his sword across the back of Xai's knees, tearing through leather and tendon.

_That _got a sound of pain out of the man, and brought him down as his legs buckled beneath him. Hands braced instinctively against the floor before he could pitch headfirst into it, the human still coughing uncontrollably.

"You do remember how to fight, yes?" Zevran smirked, sliding the flat of his blade beneath Xai's chin so close that his short beard scraped against the metal. He flipped his offhand dagger blade-down, ready for a killing stab, then waited until it seemed the other man was regaining his breath and wit enough to know who had won.

"Allow me to say this, Master Xai," Zevran said quietly. He drew the edge of his sword feather-light against the skin of the man's throat, forcing his head up. "I know you craftmaster types prefer to make the kill through elaborate indirect means, but there is something to be said for looking your victims in the eye when you send them to their funeral pyre, no?"

"I was not trying to get you killed," Xai rasped, his face turning slightly towards Zevran. Even in the moonlight his eyes were reddened from the pepper, and his face was wet with tears.

"Come now, you expect me to believe that after—?"

"Those words were a kill command, Zevran!" The human coughed harshly and glared. "You ordered me to kill you!"

Zevran had no trouble laughing. "These lies you come up with are truly inspired, my friend. Kill commands? I suppose you have something equally entertaining to explain away selling me to a blood mage."

To his credit, Xai did not flinch as the sword grazed his neck, but his glare faded to uncertainty. "I was expecting to get you out of there myself."

"Truly?" Zevran wiped blood off his face with the back of one glove. "Such concern for my well-being would be more believable in other circumstances. Surely you are aware of this."

"I told you to scream when the magister cast his magic. I _warned _you to pretend weakness."

"You said nothing of such dire consequences, however."

"As if you would have listened!" Xai hissed as this response earned another slide of sharp steel across his throat. "So you will kill me for your own arrogance? You always were a proud one, Zevran, but I never pegged you as being stupid."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you how unwise it is to taunt a man holding a blade to your neck? A man who, need I say, you were trying to kill only moments ago?"

Xai's jaw clenched angrily. Sweat glistened on his skin. He didn't make some useless 'You wouldn't dare kill a Grey Warden,' challenge, because, Zevran suspected, he believed what Zevran himself did: if Asleena was told her Warden recruit had been killed over a matter of betrayal, she would take Zevran at his word. The Warden Commander was trusting like that, almost to a fault; it was disloyal to disbelieve the word of a friend.

"Magister Ezio," Xai said eventually, "stated his desire to buy you when you fell without making a sound. I had already explained our purpose in the Imperium to him, Zevran, and had I refused the demands of a ranking Enchanter he could have made our task _impossible_. Do you think the Imperial Circle will bend over for the Grey Wardens or the queen of a backwater barbarian kingdom on the arse-end of Thedas?"

"So you sold me for seven crowns?"

"More than that. I also secured his word to assist with buying back the Ferelden slaves. If you doubt me, speak to Shianni; paperwork was delivered earlier today detailing those who the Circle kept or sold on the auction block."

"Are your haggling skills supposed to make me feel better?"

Xai's hands rested flat on the floor, fingers splayed. He stared down at them. "I intended to break you out before you could be processed, and you being here now means I obviously failed. The entrance I made use of last time I was here was inaccessible—"

"The last time you were here?" Zevran interrupted. "As an assassin?" He moved and _pushed_, forcing Xai to either drop and roll onto his back or cut his own throat. He lay quiescent as the tip of Zevran's sword dipped down to hover above the tattoo inked over his heart. "Or as a thrall?"

"As an assassin," Xai said flatly. "As a _Crow_."

"Then what is this mark of yours, hm?" Sharp cold metal traced a delicate path along the gleaming blue lines. "I saw this ink in the tower, Xai Merras. The outlines of the overall shapes were different, but these thin wavy lines rather than a solid fill?" He tsked. "Why not tell me the truth while you have the chance?"

"It is not your concern."

With a casual flick of his wrist, Zevran's sword point was pressed to Xai's throat.

"No?" the elf said quietly, dropping his smile. "I think it _is _my concern if a man with blood slave brands sells his comrade off to a Tevinter magister, then babbles something about kill commands. I think I can take that _personally_, my good friend Xai, and worry that it might happen again. I would just as soon not take that risk, and if that means you have to die, so be it."

The human's fists clenched where he lay. "It's lyrium ink," he said after a few short seconds of quiet. "The minor designs follow some technique stolen from the elves when Arlathan fell. The magisters use it to mark their thralls and heighten the effects of spells; the Crows used it on _me_ with the aid of a maleficar and the intent of getting an expendable assassin close to a blood mage mark. This tattoo is nothing more than the legacy of a disguise which has served its purpose."

Zevran cocked his head, the blade in his hand unwavering. "You would not have been so reluctant to admit it if that were the whole truth. There is more."

"In the details only. I masqueraded as a blood slave, I killed the Tevinter Circle's First Enchanter, I got out."

"Are your secrets worth your life, Xai Merras?"

"Some of them. Yes."

"Like those so-called command words?" Zevran smiled. "What kind of assassin needs those to make a kill?"

"A blood mage-killing assassin," Xai said, helpless anger sparking behind his eyes. "It was part of the disguise: one healthy pre-conditioned thrall, no need for months of disciplinary training, a gift to the First Enchanter. Most of the commands do what they were _advertised _to do, or I never would have gotten near him. Others, like that one…my master misrepresented."

"In what way?" Zevran heard himself ask.

"It was supposed to be a command to kill a target, not an order to kill the one who spoke the command."

The elf shook his head slowly. "But this makes no sense, my friend. Why would _blood mages _need words when their magic alone can command obedience?"

"They don't," Xai admitted quietly. "But slaves who obey without the magisters needing to exert their will and sacrifice energy are _useful_, like a trained mabari or a broken warhorse is _useful. _Like a _Crow _is useful."

This…was as close as Zevran had ever heard the master assassin expressing anything like bitterness or resentment to the guild he had once been, to all appearances, absolutely loyal to. He hovered over the prone human, uncertain, seeing in his mind's eye how the thralls in the tower had bowed down to their masters like good dogs, _trained animals _who knew there could be punishment for disobedience, and what chastisement a blood mage could provide...

_Did you sell me for the reasons you claimed, I wonder? Or because you remembered what it felt like, and were afraid to defy a magister?_

Zevran backed away slowly until he reached the table, hardly knowing how to proceed from here, and remained standing in the dim moonlight as Xai propped himself up with his arms and wiped pepper and tears from his face.

"I'm impressed, by the way," the human said.

"How so? Because I bested a Master Crow?"

A slight shake of the head. "You got out of the Circle Tower in a day, maybe less. It took me much longer."

"Fate intervened, being the coy minx that she is."

"Ah. You seem to be the golden child of Luck, Zevran Arainai," Xai noted, with a bitter undertone. "Even when things appear to be going rapidly downhill for you, you always manage to end up on top. How fortunate you must feel to be you."

"I lead a charmed life, or so it's said."

"And now?" The Warden made a small gesture with one hand. "What happens?"

"What do the other commands I heard you say accomplish?" Zevran asked, and the human glanced aside.

"Nothing dangerous. But I would take it as a…_kindness_…if you never used them. The results are somewhat humiliating. Submission commands," he elaborated when Zevran let the silence draw out in a pointed fashion. "Kneel, grovel, kiss feet…so on."

Zevran decided not to tell him he'd already forgotten what most of the words _were_ in the excitement that had followed, well aware of the power this information gave him. Instead he chuckled. "I think this little scene is humiliation enough, yes?"

Xai kept his eyes carefully averted, and his voice neutral. "As you say, then."

"Does anyone else know them?"

"It's…possible some of the magisters employ the same code for their thralls. Makes it easier to command a group, you see. Beyond that, I think only the maleficar who conditioned me knew, and my Crow Master. Both have since died." The dark gaze flicked back to Zevran's. "Master Anton. Did you hear about him?"

"Anton Cuero? He killed himself, as I recall. It was suicide."

"Yes." Xai's lips twisted into the ghost of a smirk.

Zevran sighed and leaned against the table's edge. His anticipation of the kill, along with his own personal dislike of this man, had dissolved into an unwelcome confusion.

"If you have decided against killing me," Xai said, as though sensing this, "might I suggest that we continue as before? With you in charge, of course. I am not your enemy, Zevran. Not your _friend_, no…but not your enemy."

Well…a lot of these claims could be verified somewhat once the blood slaves were liberated, especially the Ferelden thralls.

"Tell me what it means when the tattoos and eyes glow white," Zevran said suddenly, and saw the other man's brow furrow.

"If a lyrium brand is glowing it means its bearer is under the influence of blood magic, but as to the eyes? I don't know." He paused, then continued cautiously: "Perhaps if you…explained what transpired I could hazard an educated guess."

"Perhaps," Zevran agreed in a quiet tone. He turned his head to an empty-looking corner of the room and said, "Sindel? You can come out now, my dear."

There was no noise at all, and then a dark shadow became visible beneath the table. The hare cleared the wooden barrier above, shook herself once and then grew into a slender female form with black hair, elven armour and a sheathed sword.

"Extraordinary claims," she murmured as Xai made a visible effort to keep his composure, and Zevran took the opportunity to turn his back on the master assassin and light the candle.

The Antivan elf smiled in the newborn glow of the flame, gold glints echoing the colour of his eyes.

"How many of them are true, I wonder?"


	14. Catching Up

_Author's Note: And we're back. Happy New Year all. :) As usual, thanks for the wonderful comments!  
_

* * *

Sindel was easily able to heal Zevran's wounds, but Xai's required a bit more attention, especially where Zevran had hamstrung him. So while the Dalish elf had the human lying face-down on his bed as she worked her magic, the Antivan poked his head outside and instructed the first servant who passed to fetch Shianni. If he was going to explain what happened in the tower, he'd tell them both at the same time.

When he sat at Xai's table, booted feet resting near the man's twin swords and by now stone-cold meal, the human said, "I don't suppose either of you would care to explain how Sindel came to be in the Imperium."

Zevran merely raised his brows, while Sindel replied, "I flew." She glanced at Zevran while healing blue light continued to stream from her extended fingers, and at his shrug and smile elaborated: "He sent a letter to Highever before leaving Denerim, asking that I meet him at the Grey Warden compound in Minrathous after a certain number of weeks. The teyrnir was not too troubled when the time to leave came, so I decided to risk the voyage."

"I wished to see if she could provide any aid with Shianni," Zevran said when Xai glanced at him.

"Ah." The human looked thoughtful. "The similarities of your…individual misfortunes, I presume."

"That was the general idea. But when the current situation reared its ugly head I thought to myself, 'Zevran, why not ask her to provide some assistance with Xai while she is here?'"

Xai smirked slightly. "The great Zevran Arainai asked for backup during an assassination attempt?"

Zevran grinned in return and stretched his legs further. "Backup? No, no, my friend, I asked for an _audience_. Alas, Sindel was the only one interested, but as this is my debut in Tevinter I am confident word will spread of my prowess, yes? I expect glowing reviews from the town criers all across the city."

"Expecting calls for an encore already, are we?"

"Let us say I am now _prepared _for such, hm?" Zevran shot a meaningful glance at the broken mirror and Xai's expression practically froze at the implication. Zevran hummed to himself, thinking he might have to reconsider throwing that threat around so casually. For one thing, he wouldn't be able to follow through with it if neither he nor Sindel could remember the words, and for another, those who'd held similar power over the former assassin in the past were now, according to him, quite dead.

"What is the situation in Highever?" Xai asked after a silent moment, looking back over his shoulder at Sindel.

Zevran had already asked her this when he'd found her in Minrathous, but listened in to her reply anyway. "The darkspawn presence is increasing all along the Coastland," she said. "It's getting pretty bad, and Fergus is having to make some tough choices on which parts of his lands to protect. Highever still doesn't have enough soldiers since the Howe occupation during the Blight, but Alistair, Galahan and I have been helping as much as possible. I'll be heading back as soon as I'm done here," she added with another glance at Zevran. "Before dawn, I hope."

Xai's brow furrowed. "Amaranthine?"

Sindel sighed. "From what I understand, Asleena arrived at Vigil's Keep in the middle of a darkspawn attack. None of the Orlesian Wardens who were stationed there survived the assault, but she managed to rescue some survivors and liberate the keep when she got there. I don't know much more than that, I'm afraid. I flew there before I came here to see if she wanted to pass on any news, but she wasn't around. Out on Grey Warden business, looking into rumours of a...of a broodmother nest," she finished, a shade reluctantly, and even Zevran felt a twinge of unease.

"She's the only Warden there?" Xai said.

"Not anymore. She's been recruiting. Which reminds me of something I forgot to tell you," she added in Zevran's direction. "You're a friend of Felsi's husband, aren't you? You were companions during the Blight."

"Are you speaking of Oghren, my lovely woman?" Zevran stopped as it clicked. One of his feet slipped off the table with a thump. "Oghrenis a Grey Warden? _Oghren? _Are you quite serious?"

Sindel laughed at his reaction. "You should have seen Alistair's face at the news. You know, in some ways I think you two are quite similar." Smiling as Zevran scoffed, she stepped back from Xai's bedside and flexed the fingers of either hand against each other. "All right. See how that feels."

Zevran pretended not to pay too much attention as the other assassin got up and tested his legs, but toyed with a dagger he could throw at a moment's notice. He still wasn't sure how much he was prepared to trust the human with regards to his personal safety, but he had come to one reluctant conclusion: without Xai's aid they had little chance of rescuing the Denerim elves. Shianni's altercation with the magister and inexperience with Tevinter politics counted against her, and Zevran's rampage through the Circle would not make his presence at any negotiation particularly helpful. Additionally, as Xai had pointed out when they'd first arrived, Shianni and Zevran were both elves.

"What if someone recognises you?" Zevran asked suddenly. "You told that magister Ezio your name, yes?"

"Yes," Xai said, "but when I came here as an assassin I used a different one. My hair was longer, I was younger, and I had little contact with any mages here but the First Enchanter. Superficial recognition may not be an issue." He sat on the bed and drew one knee up to his chin, then the other, stretching muscles carefully. "If they see the brand they will recognise the ink, naturally. And if I am subjected to their magic they are liable to sense the heightened connection."

"All magic? Not just blood magic?" Zevran shot a glance at Sindel, who shrugged.

"I always assumed he possessed some item that enhanced the effects of certain spells," she confessed. "Asleena's amulet amplifies healing energies, and I have a shield back in Highever that does similar."

"A Tevinter blood mage is likely to recognise when he's dealing with a lyrium brand," Xai said. "I honestly don't know what they would do with me considering I'm a Grey Warden now, but blood mages have plentyof options, subtle and otherwise. Maybe I would just disappear in the night one eve, following dark dreams." He gave a twisted smile. "Grey Wardens go missing all the time, don't they? A hazard of the job, you could say."

"So in short," Zevran said dryly, "if you are discovered, things may get complicated."

"You're not off the hook either, Arainai. Did Ezio just _allow _you to escape? Did you kill him? You don't have to be a thrall for a magister to come after you, and we both know he's tasted your blood. He's got your scent, and for all we know a vial of blood to boot."

A chill prickled down Zevran's spine, but he hid his discomfit and drawled, "Legally I am now in the proud possession of a delightful dwarven lady. If the magister wants me he will have to pay a substantial sum."

Xai made a hrmph sound, but asked, "How substantial?"

Zevran thought for a moment, smiled, then held his hands apart like _so_. "About…this much refined lyrium. Give or take. Impressive, no? I expect no slave in the history of the Imperium could claim such an extravagant price!"

"Not honestly, no," Xai murmured dryly. "But if you escaped your new owner, you're effectively fair game, Zevran, and if Ezio learns you are seeking refuge at the Fereldan Embassy—"

He was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Shianni's oddly subdued voice identifying herself on the other side. Xai threw on a shirt and Zevran removed his foot from the table before the other man called for her to enter. He'd been quite looking forward to seeing Shianni's reaction at seeing he had returned, and was not disappointed. Her face lit up, her relief that he was whole was palpable, and he had to speak up after a while to interrupt her stream of apologies for getting him into trouble in the first place.

"Here now, my dear," Zevran said. "I am alive, yes? And unharmed? I am prepared to strip down if you wish to examine me more thoroughly, but I assure you I am quite well. Come, join us at the table. We have much to discuss."

"We do?" Shianni said anxiously as Xai pulled out a chair for her. The girl sat, then gave Sindel a confused look as the armoured Dalish elf drew her own seat and sank into it with a clinking of mail. Xai claimed the place across from her.

"Ah, forgive my manners. Shianni, this is Sindel, Arcane Warrior of the Fereldan Grey Wardens and formerly of the Dalish clans."

"I didn't know elves could be Grey Wardens…"

"One of the most famous Wardens of old was elven," Sindel said, smiling at her. "But we can speak of that later, Shianni."

She nodded and promptly turned to Zevran. "How'd you get out?"

Zevran chuckled. "I'm so glad you asked."

He explained as much as he could remember, leaving out only the finer descriptions of the thralls' tattoos in case Shianni was clever enough to come to the same conclusions as Zevran had. By the time he'd finished, Xai was pouring drinks for the four of them and apparently deep in thought, Sindel was examining the dagger, broken sword and book Zevran had scavenged from the tower (the latter of which, Zevran had been disgusted to learn, was about rearing halla and carving horn rather than something even _remotely_ interesting), and Shianni was trying to figure out who the elf had been that had reacted to her name and Soris'.

"Blonde, you said?" she asked again.

"With lavender eyes," Zevran confirmed. "Utterly gorgeous. Wicked sense of humour, too. And possessed of a very strong grip," he added as a wry afterthought.

"Ciela was blonde," Shianni said reluctantly, as though prodding a sore tooth. "She hated people calling her eyes lavender, though, because it was unusual and made her stand out. She preferred blue."

"Vivid colours are a mark of old Dalish bloodlines running strong," Sindel said, looking up from her book. "Amongst the People it is common to have purple eyes."

"Yeah, well, we lived in an alienage. Looking different or standing out just meant the shems paid you more attention—of the unwanted variety." Shianni twisted one of her fingers distractedly and so missed Sindel's concerned expression. "Zevran…I was given a list of the slaves from Denerim. It tells you everything. Who's in the Circle Tower, who was taken to auction and sold, and who's…not alive anymore. It says Uncle Cyrion is all right, but Ciela…she's dead."

"They could have lied," Xai said, setting down the glasses and reclaiming his chair. "I have told you this. What better way to keep possession of valuable slaves than deny their existence?"

"Taeodor said only two of the Denerim elves were taken to become thralls," Zevran said thoughtfully. "Ciela Tabris was one, but the name of the other…ah, what was it? Valdaran something?"

"Valdaran Dasu?" Shianni supplied. "I don't know him, but his name was on the list Valendrian gave me. I've already compared it to the Tevinter one." She frowned. "I would have to check to be sure, but I think they listed him as dead too."

"But the description Zevran gave matches your cousin's?" Xai said, sipping at his wine.

"She knew her way around a sword," Zevran pointed out. "Not a common alienage talent with that ban on elves owning blades, I imagine."

"It sounds like her," Shianni conceded hesitantly. She fiddled with the stem of her glass. "I just don't want to get my hopes up. Maybe we should just rescue the ones we know are alive and get out before anyone else is hurt."

There was silence until Zevran noted, "That's very unlike you, my dear."

"Maybe that's a good thing," Shianni muttered, staring at her drink. She started to pick the glass up, then lowered it again and pushed it away to the middle of the table. "So far my brilliance has gotten the people I care about abducted, raped, killed, imprisoned, sold into slavery and tortured by blood mages. Nice record, huh? Xai, you asked me back on the ship what I'd want to do if we learned the magisters were unwilling to let some of my people go. I said I'd want to save them if it wouldn't risk any more lives, didn't I?"

"You did," the former master confirmed quietly.

"We don't know if Ciela is alive," Shianni said. "If she is, then they're keeping her somewhere we'd have to break into, right? After what Zevran went through simply trying to escape, we could end up risking everyone for nothing. And if the magisters catch us what would they do with us? What would they do with the elves we'd just saved?"

"If it came to springing anyone out of the tower by less than legal means," Xai said, "the last thing we'd want to do is transport them on the same vessel as the other elves." He traded a glance with Zevran here. "If they wished, the magisters would be able to follow their blood scent, similar to how Templars tracks apostates via a phylactery, and Minrathous would have little trouble readying a warship complete with mages to hunt us down.

"_If _we were to free any thralls," he went on, "I would save them until last. Rescue the other slaves first and send the ship back to Denerim without us. When they are safely away, we liberate the thralls and leave the Tevinter Imperium separately."

"I am hoping there is a little more detail to this plan of yours than just _that_," Zevran remarked, leaning back with his wineglass in hand.

Xai smiled faintly. "Of course. But details are unnecessary if Shianni has no wish to proceed."

"Why not rescue all the thralls?" Sindel asked.

"That would be very dangerous, sister, and maybe impossible," Xai said sombrely. "The thralls' cells aren't sealed by key and lock, but by magic. Unlike the regular blood slaves, which are 'common property', thralls are more akin to being personal pets. The magical fields holding them are a combination of more than one mage's power, and can be lowered only by the cooperation, incapacitation or deaths of said mages. To free all the thralls we would have to deal with many powerful blood mages."

"I think I have seen a spell such as you are describing," Zevran said. "During the Blight, Arl Howe detained Anora in the Denerim Estate. There was a purple field sealing her door, and we had to slay two mages to dispel it. Not even Alistair and Asleena's combined Templar arts could bring it down."

"If procedure is the same as the last time I was here, on my contract to kill a magister," Xai added for Shianni's benefit, "it will be a minimum of two mages to a cage: one the overseer, the others whoever 'owns' or has an interest in the specific thrall—"

Shianni interrupted. "You're talking like it's already decided we're going through with this!"

"Are we not?" Zevran asked innocently. "Have I not broken into heavily guarded fortresses before and rescued Grey Wardens in distress? And let us not forget our friend Xai, who has infiltrated this very same tower in the past, killed his mark and escaped to tell the tale. What is there to fear?"

"Plenty!" the girl shouted, jumping to her feet and staring at him in disbelief. "Maker's breath, Zevran, I _felt _what that blood mage's spell was like. I saw him cast it on _you_! Do you want to feel that again?"

Xai set his glass down atop the table with a firm sound. "There is a simple way around this," he said.

"Is there now?" Zevran asked warily, and even Shianni looked suspicious.

Xai nodded. "When the regular slaves are freed, Shianni can travel back with them to Ferelden on _The Royal Sail_. Zevran and I can attempt to rescue any thralls on our own."

Zevran had to struggle not to gawp at the colossal gall of this calm-faced proposal of partnership. Sindel was making a choked sound beside him, and Shianni blurted, "_What_? You can't send me away while you rescue my own cousin without me!"

"Can you give me a reason why not?" Xai asked, his innocent expression of curiosity almost as good as a smirk.

"Because she's _my _cousin! I got her into this and I have to get her out!"

"Then you have until we free the other elves to make your decision on whether you're going with them, or staying with us," Xai told her.

"Why do you even care? You're human! And you're not even Fereldan!"

"Our instructions were, if I recall the wording correctly, 'to buy back or _otherwise liberate_ those who were illegally sold into slavery during the Blight.'"

"Sod your…_sodding_ orders, shem! Aren't you even a little worried about what those mages will do to you if they catch you? Aren't you _afraid_?"

"Should I be?" Xai asked, and for once Zevran believed he saw the lie beneath the serene façade.

"Maybe you _would_ be if youknew what it felt like," Shianni snapped at him.

"I've been here before, Shianni," Xai reminded her evenly. "I assure you, I am aware of the risks in this place."

When the girl sat, looking a little shame-faced after her accusation had been shot down, Xai turned to Zevran. "Would you care to hear my observations now?"

Zevran swirled his wine, his eyes gazing absently at Shianni's untasted glass. "At your pleasure, my friend."

"The magisters have been experimenting with lyrium, blood magic and fragmented scraps of plundered lore for centuries," Xai said. "I can hardly claim to know everything they've achieved, only what I have seen and heard for myself. I have not heard of this…glowing eyes effect you described. At the least it seems like the magisters found a way to control their thralls over a greater than usual distance, even with obstacles between them."

"This is not a common blood mage skill?" Zevran asked.

"In my experience, any sort of blood control to the effectiveness you described would require the mage in power to be able to see what he's…doing." Xai blinked at nothing. "Four Swords…it's that simple?"

"They can _see _through the thralls' eyes?" Zevran demanded. "This is what you think?"

"Perhaps. It could help explain how the thralls managed to find you so easily, if they were not the ones doing the searching but relying on the mage behind them and within them." His expression registered disgust for a brief moment. "If we're right, we'd better pray the range isn't significant, otherwise it won't make getting away any easier."

"This sounds disturbingly similar to some theories I have heard on abominations," Sindel said, looking disturbed. "A demon comes across a sleeping mage in the Fade and attempts to possess him, through force or guile. If it succeeds, the spirit of the mage is still within the Fade with the demon, but it gains control of the body, sees through his eyes, acts with his hands."

"Wait, wait," Shianni said, looking between them. "Please tell me that if we do end up rescuing Ciela, or anyone who's a thrall, there's some way to make sure the magisters can't control them whenever they like! There's a way to protect them, isn't there?"

Xai shrugged, but Sindel said, "If these brands the thralls bear are like our vallaslin, tattoos"—she indicated the markings of Andruil on her own face here—"then it may be possible to burn them off."

"But…" Shianni hesitated. "Zevran said Ciela's tattoo was over one of her eyes. Burning it off would…really hurt, wouldn't it? And scar her for life."

"If not destroy the sight in her eye," Xai said. "Yes."

Sindel leaned forward. "I might be able to help there. I've had experience with healing burns magically and mitigating pain. I have even helped my old clan remove vallaslin." She glanced at Zevran. "A story for another time. Suffice to say, my skill is not insignificant. When the time comes I could assist with removing any brands. If it might remove a blood mage's power over someone, it's worth a try isn't it?"

The very slight emphasis she put on the offer to remove _any _brands prompted Zevran to glance at Xai, whose smile at Sindel's words was vaguely self-mocking. It wouldn't work then? Or was there something else? But Shianni looked grateful at Sindel's offer and said, "Thank you." The discussion moved on.

"For now, we have to worry about reaching the thralls and getting them out," Xai said. "Zevran, how much do you trust that dwarf who bought you?"

"Shayle? We are old companions, as I said. I trust her well enough. She has also been in contact with a number of the mages," Zevran went on musingly. "They are attempting to woo the rest of her lyrium from her, you see, tempting her to dinners and dances. Perhaps she can learn if our thralls live, or who their masters are. I saw them, however briefly, and she was there with me."

He gave an approving nod, seeming even a little impressed. "We have time. Shianni and I will organise the other slaves, but I strongly suggest you stay with your new mistress for now. We can contact you if there is any news."

Zevran didn't bother to hide his displeasure at this idea. "So I am to sit around doing nothing, hm?"

"By all means, sneak out, visit the Grand Cathedral, lie, cheat, swindle, wench, try to assassinate someone else if it pleases you," Xai said dryly. "Just don't draw any more attention to _us_, if you would be so kind." His lips stretched into a shadow of his usual smile. "But you are in charge, of course."

"So kind of you to remember."

The smile widened a fraction before he turned serious again. "I will try to secure some half-decent floor plans of the tower, and if you wish you can do the same. See if Shayle can assist. Several floors are open to the public so it shouldn't be hard to get hand-drawn maps from hawkers, complete with lists of visitor attractions, but anything reliable for the upper levels will be hard to find without a mage's assistance. I will draw what I remember, but it's old information at best."

"What can I do?" Shianni asked, looking determined to be included now.

"When we start bringing the Denerim elves in," Xai told her, "talk to them. _All _of them. They will have the most up-to-date knowledge of what goes on in the tower and what the day-to-day habits of some of the mages are. Everything will be useful, and you are one of them. They will answer your questions if it means rescuing more of their own, I expect."

"I can do that."

"Other than that," Xai glanced at Zevran, "and brainstorming ways to leave the city, there is nothing else to be done for now except enchant your weapons with the most powerful dweomer runes you can find."

Zevran's eyes flicked to the two Imperial Edges on the table. Both were already enchanted with two grandmaster dweomer runes apiece. He nodded. "I am sure Shayle's dwarven associates can assist me there."

Sensing the discussion was drawing to a close, Sindel pushed her chair back and rose, collecting the book, dar'misu and dar'misaan as she did so. "I regret I can't stay longer and help, but the others will need my skills back in Highever and I should leave as soon as it's light. Zevran, would you mind waiting for me out front?" When he indicated he would, she motioned to Shianni with a smile. "I would very much like to speak to my elvhen kinswoman before I go. Would you mind?"

The girl looked dubious, but rose and shrugged. "If you want. We'll go back to my room." Giving the two men a nod goodnight, she left with the Dalish Warden following.

As soon as the heavy door had closed, Zevran said, "You must have considered burning the tattoo off or cutting it away, so why have you never attempted it yourself?" Xai didn't answer immediately, and remained staring at the door with an unreadable expression. "The mark on your chest would not be so hard to erase, true?"

"In case you hadn't figured this out already, Zevran, it wouldn't stop the words from working."

The elf snorted. "That is an excuse, surely. What of the magic side you spoke of? You are walking around with a vulnerability to mages that is begging to be exploited. A pair of enchanted swords won't save you every time."

"It's a sacred Crow symbol. The House would have killed me for destroying it."

"Another excuse. You have been free of the Crows for nigh a year, Xai Merras, and tangling with enough darkspawn emissaries to be a liability to your Grey Warden companions, not to mention a risk to your _Commander_." Zevran watched the man carefully for reactions. "Did you not try to get rid of me for a similar failing?"

Xai gave him an irritated look. "The Commander believes the heightened effects I receive from benign spells are not without value."

"O-ho! Now she is making excuses _for _you?"

To Zevran's secret delight, he spotted a spark of anger at that comment. The man tried to cover it by smiling. "I just _love_ how you can all talk about putting a hot iron against some young girl's eye as though she will actually agree to let you anywhere near her. Oh, yes. _Very_ nice."

"You are evading the question, my friend."

"Question time is over."

The two men locked eyes, Xai's gaze challenging, daring Zevran to threaten him for more information, while the elf merely attempted to gauge how much further he could press.

"For now," Zevran conceded finally, feeling it best not to push his luck all in one night. He rose with deliberate nonchalance and headed for the door. "Oh, except for one last thing, Merras," he said, turning back to face the still-seated man. "You mentioned Asleena is aware of this? How much does she know?"

"More than you." Xai's dark eyes was steady. "And less than you."

* * *

Sindel met him outside, and together they left the embassy. There was some confusion at the gate considering no one had seen them arrive, but the elven woman's Grey Warden accoutrements and a runner sent to Xai's rooms who returned with prompt confirmation convinced the guards to let them pass.

"Shianni is strong-willed," Sindel said as they walked the streets of Minrathous, en route to Shayle's estate. "We just talked, I about the Green Dales and how I became a Warden—she asked, so I gave a brief account. She spoke a little about Denerim on her own in return, but not too much. You told me enough yourself. I think she hurts most for convincing herself others suffered due to her brashness. That it's her fault. In this our situations are…very different."

Zevran shook his head. "She wants to rescue her cousin, but at the same time she fears bringing more people to harm. She sees blood on her hands and guilt in her heart."

"I don't think I can help her any more than you and Xai have managed to so far. I gave her a pair of daggers like you asked in the letter. Good ones. She seemed very pleased." Sindel smiled faintly at him. "Said the two of you were training her."

He tried to hide his awkwardness at her gentle approval, but something told him she wasn't fooled. "Everyone should know how to defend themselves properly, no?"

The former Keeper smiled, then took the elegant dar'misu he'd stolen from the slavemistress off her belt and handed it back to him. "You might as well hold on to it, lethallin. I'm sure you will never want for more blades. It's called the Fang of Fen'Harel, according to its markings. I've seen daggers of similar make amongst the clans, and can only tell you that this style of forging and design dates back to the time the elvhen lived in the Dales, back before it was overrun by the Chantry."

"What of the sword?" Zevran asked. "That looked a fine weapon."

"I couldn't translate much of the script, and it doesn't help that some of it is too marred to make sense of, but give me time and access to my records back in Highever and I'll have a better idea. I don't know if it can be repaired either, not properly. The metal's a lyrium alloy, like Spellweaver here." She touched the pommel of her own blade. "Maybe your new dwarven friends can take a look."

He accepted the twisted pieces back with a shrug and a nod. "It is worth asking."

"Do you want the book back as well?"

Zevran laughed at that. "Stealing tomes from libraries! And not even useful tomes at that. What kind of thief am I, hm?"

"History is history," Sindel said. "There are designs for carving halla horns in here I have never laid eyes upon, lethallin, and they are beautiful. So much forgotten art is in those pages, I almost wish…" She trailed off, looking away into the night-darkened city with its shadowy towers of stolen lore. A soft sigh escaped her. "Don't discredit what you have recovered just because it doesn't show how to brew a stronger poison or fashion a more powerful bow. That's not what Arlathan was."

When they reached the gates of Shayle's estate several minutes later, she turned to him and asked, "Is there any message you wish me to bring back to Ferelden?"

"Ah…" Zevran thought a moment. "Tell Alistair and Asleena what I said of Shayle and Wynne. That will be of interest to both of them, yes? What do you think of our Xai Merras, however? He claims Asleena knows much of what we now do."

"I am bonded to a man who believes in keeping secret that which is not ours to share," Sindel said, glancing up at the night sky. "Grey Wardens are also not supposed to make much of a person's past. I am not sure this is always wise, but neither do I think carrying this information to Ferelden will help you here in the Tevinter Imperium."

"No…no, I suppose you are right." He sighed. "He is…convincing, I will give him that. Do you remember any of those words he said to the mirror?"

"Only the ones you repeated back to him, and that single one he said twice," she said, and recited it for him. "Not the first two phrases. You don't intend to use them on him, do you?"

"Only if the situation demands it, never fear." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Thank you for coming all this way, my friend."

She smiled back and bestowed a quick embrace, the metal of her armour feeling cool against his skin in the warmth of the evening air. "Mythal protect you and Andruil guide your blades, Zevran Arainai. Dareth shiral. We miss you back home and are thinking of you."

Zevran watched her walk off into the night, realising that he too missed the place he had come to think of as his home, and the people he had come to call his family…more keenly than he could give voice to.

* * *

"The painted elf has returned. I trust its treacherous enemy has been reduced to a red paste?"

Zevran sighed and sank into a chair opposite Shayle. She looked like she had been trying to sleep but given up; her black hair was rather becomingly tousled, her feet were bare, and she was wearing a cream robe that looked too warm for the weather but served to soften her features. Otherwise, the room was empty.

"No, I did not kill him," Zevran said, not without regret. "Things were said that made it feel…unwise to proceed with my plan."

Shayle grunted. "Disappointing. Anyone who crossed _me_ wouldn't have a chance to explain himself before his head was crushed. In that, at least, I have not changed."

"I don't know…I rather like some of your changes, my dear. If you are having trouble sleeping, there are all manner of relaxation techniques I would be only to happy to demonstrate."

"The painted elf will stop leering at me this instant."

Zevran chuckled. "I apologise. If it makes you uncomfortable, I will stop looking. My offer stands, however. You have been a woman far too long not to have experienced any of the pleasures of the flesh—even a simple massage!"

"It does seem preoccupied with the idea of touching. I have no interest in being poked and prodded."

"Or probed?"

"That is disgusting! If it insists on speaking of such subjects I may be tempted to go out and kill someone myself. That always relaxes _me _just fine." Shayle folded her arms, pouting slightly. "When are we returning to Ferelden?"

Zevran's brows rose. "We? You wish to go back?"

"Certainly. This place bores me, and the mages, as I have made abundantly clear, are as aggravating as a flock of birds. The ball tonight was horrendous; they were all trilling about my new elven slave like it was some kind of scandal, then falling over themselves to introduce me to their pointy-eared servants as though I would desire to purchase an entire harem!"

"Oh? Were any of them more handsome than I?"

"What do I know of such things?" she grumped. "It's easy with jewels—cut, clarity, lustre. Fleshy mortals are not the same."

Zevran grinned and reclined a little further, deliberately. "You don't find some more…pleasing to look upon than others?"

"The ones that are dead? I am always pleased to look at _them_."

The assassin grinned. "Ah, well…I cannot deny I sometimes feel the same way. Getting back to Ferelden, however…I rather thought you were loath to leave your golem shell behind. Chances are we may not be able to take such a heavy thing with us."

"I thought the painted elf arrived on a ship. Such a vessel would have little trouble carrying my body, surely."

"Hm. This is true. I am sure you could travel with it…but if you desired my companionship I may not be present on board when the time came to leave."

She looked displeased. "What does it mean? Why would it choose to stay in Minrathous?"

"I will explain, my fine dwarven friend. And then, if you wish, you can choose to help."


	15. Infiltration

The innermost section of Minrathous city's central square was cordoned off with braids of thick black silk. A steady stream of people from all walks of life stood at the edges of the secured area or paced its perimeter. Some lingered for a time, others only for a moment of cursory respect. There was prayer, heads bowed in silence, small scrolls burned and the ashes scattered on the sacred ground, stares of curiosity or religious awe.

This was where Andraste had burned.

From where Zevran and Xai stood, the Grand Cathedral of the Black Divine stood beyond the square, all breathtakingly beautiful spires and marvellous stained glass windows. They could even hear a choral chanting from within, but the words were too indistinct for Zevran to tell if it was the Chant of Light being sung or some Tevinter derivation.

Conscious that he had not had the chance to be particularly devout of late, Zevran bowed his head in the direction of the scorched stone and made a small motion with one hand—_Sword of Mercy_—murmuring a verse for forgiveness in Antivan. Beside him, Xai mirrored his actions so precisely it was hard to say whether he was following suit or had acted on a simultaneous impulse. Either way, they met each others' eyes afterwards, dark brown to golden, two assassins silently acknowledging the mission they were about to begin as companions.

"Into the wolf's mouth, hm?" Zevran suggested with a grin.

Xai's answering smile was devoid of mirth and he did not answer. He turned his back on the square and the Chantry, starting towards the great shadow that was the Circle Tower.

Zevran smoothed the frown from his brow and followed.

* * *

"_This is what we have. There are eleven floors in all, three below ground and the rest above. The regular slaves are kept one floor down—mages typically grab two or three before heading outside. Just because the Denerim elves are now safely away on _The Royal Sail,_ don't assume there aren't plenty of bodies left down there for the magisters to call on and swamp us with at a moment's notice. Yes Shianni?"_

"_Don't we want to try springing them? A commotion could be a good distraction and I can't help wanting to—"_

"_I know you want to free them, but we can't save them all. Our success relies on being undetected as long as possible, and a mass exodus won't achieve that."_

"_All right…Fine. So I'm to wait over at this spot here with the horses and Fereldan guards until you all show up."_

"_The ground floor and first few levels will be easy. Zevran and I will disguise ourselves to be on the safe side: clothes, tattoo coverage, hair dyes—"_

"_Black! I have tried black hair dye on one or two occasions. I looked stunning. You will think so too when you see it, mark my words."_

"—_I will be Tassos Vasilis of Vol Dorma, uncle of Airlia Vasilis, a niece who's apprenticing at the tower. Zevran will be my house servant, carrying parcels we will declare to be gifts. The baskets and wrappings contain nothing out of the ordinary, but include clothes and skin pigments we'll use to disguise any thralls on the way out._

"_The two of us will enter the tower at the main entrance, state our business and be accompanied to the mage quarters and guest lounges on the fourth floor, past the library, museum and mess hall. Shayle, do you recall your part?"_

"_I am to enter the tower a quarter hour after the two Crows have, and pass the time until their return conversing with the mage-guards who hold the control rods of the golems that guard the front doors." The dwarf sighed. "How tiresome."_

* * *

Zevran brushed an uncooperative strand of black hair back into place, mindful not to disturb his makeup, and wished again for a hand mirror. He'd already checked his reflection so many times that morning that Shianni had suggested he should just make out with himself and get it over with (and he'd been so delighted by the jest he'd given the looking glass a long, passionate kiss just to enjoy her laughter and Shayle's exasperation).

Attempting to maintain his pose of attentive elven servant as Xai gave their cover story to a lower mage, Zevran also tried to absorb as much of the vast entrance foyer as he could. He hadn't had much of a chance to look at it on his way out with Shayle, and had been lucky enough not to stumble into it on his mad flight from the cells.

It resembled a huge circular throne room. Imperial banners with devices both familiar and foreign floated from the high stone walls. Towards the back of the chamber stood a single elaborately-carved chair, dragonbone if Zevran was any judge, and lavishly bejewelled with stones that glowed blood red and lyrium blue.

There was an empty crown resting on the cushioned seat of the chair.

The entire display stood on an unoccupied dais, thickly carpeted in gold-trimmed crimson, and cordoned off just as the square had been. It was also covered by a heavy layer of dust, which Zevran assumed was some sort of symbolism rather than any laxity of the cleaners. An attempt by the magisters to show that the old ruling days of magic were over, perhaps. He wondered if anyone ever fell for it.

Guards lined the edges of the hall, actual paid guards, elves and humans with bows and swords and mail of red steel with gold sunburst devices on the breastplates. They were doing a good job of pretending not to be keeping very close watch on those approaching the throne and crown to get a better look.

Behind the display and easy to miss despite being clearly visible were two mages, neither standing near the other. No one could tell just by looking at them, but _they_ were the ones who held the control rods for the two golems hulking immobile on either side of the huge double doors; proper full-sized golems, not the smaller version 'Shale' had been, and fashioned of gleaming steel that sparked lightning rather than a stone-and-crystal affair.

So. Anyone making trouble in this room would have to answer to arrows, blades, magic, and two pairs of giant steel fists. Not good odds.

"Knife-ears!" Xai said sharply, in Arcanum. He'd insisted Zevran learn some rudimentary commands. "Attend! Show the gifts."

"Yes Lord Vasilis!"

The elf stepped forward quickly, uncovering baskets and revealing bottles and jars for inspection, then neatly replaced the wrappings once the mage nodded his satisfaction.

"Wait there," he said, pointing, then added something that Zevran assumed meant: "Should not be long."

The quarter hour mark passed, a steady tide of humanity passing inside to view the great library or museum of relics, then streaming out again in a constant ebb and flow. Eventually a shorter figure stepped from the throng entering the tower to stand alone. Zevran saw it march up to one of the towering juggernauts, and he watched in mild horror as the huge body canted down so its head could view the squishy creature below it.

Whatever Shayle said to it went completely unheard, but the golem's booming response of, "What shall we speak about, dwarf?" practically brought the crowd to a standstill with many a gasp and cry of wonder. One of the control rod-mages immediately crossed the hall to confront Shayle while the other observed from her post with an expression of mingled amusement and irritation that suggested she'd witnessed this scene before.

"She'd better not get kicked out of here prematurely," Xai muttered under his breath.

"She knows what she's doing," Zevran replied, with more confidence than he actually felt. "Besides, if we're lucky we may not need that part of the plan after all."

The human made a non-committal sound and folded his arms, falling into a pose of noble impatience.

Another two minutes passed and then there was a happy squeal of "Uncle Tassos!" followed by a slender young mage in ivory robes and dark curls throwing herself into Xai's arms.

They'd actually _rehearsed_ this scene. Complete with happy extended family dialogue.

Airlia was one of the mages Wynne had set to dogging Shayle's steps and, according to the dwarf, a vocal denouncer of blood slavery. The mage claimed she held views both Loyalistic and Aequitarian, believing the Chant of Light said magic should never be used to control the minds of men no matter what those in power at the Chantry dictated. To hear her explain it, there was a certain amount of politics amongst Tevinter mages about how far blood magic should be allowed to go in order to serve the nation; substituting slaves for lyrium didn't sit well with everyone, especially when said slaves were being subjected to more than mere energy-drainage.

"The sad truth is that most people don't care what happens to slaves," she'd told Zevran one day at Shayle's estate, during his efforts to glean information on both her and the tower. "So long as the magisters don't use their powers on free people, well…that's all right. Slaves are property, not men, so there is no blasphemy. I doubt Andraste, a former slave herself, would agree."

Despite Zevran's efforts to learn what he could of the young mage, Shayle's own questioning of senior mages at dinner parties, and Shianni's information gathering amongst the freed slaves, it had still been a leap of faith to use Airlia's aid and make her aware of any of the plan, contingencies in place or no. In the end, an apparently free ticket halfway up the tower with inside information included had been too good to ignore. As her intelligence of the tower had corroborated or clarified just about everything Xai, Shayle and Shianni had passed on to Zevran, he had decided they would take the risk.

"Come upstairs," Airlia urged after a brief babble in Arcanum. "We can talk in comfort there and I can send for drinks. Your elf too—he looks tired!"

Zevran bowed, Imperial style as he'd been taught, and gave the correct response: "I am humbled by the lady mage's notice and generosity."

"They will lose respect for you if you treat them like people," Xai said with patrician disapproval as they walked with her to join the flow of the crowd, heading deeper into the tower towards the stairwell.

Zevran let Airlia's response and the rest of the contrived conversation wash over him and kept his head down like a slave should, carrying his baskets and packages with care while taking note of all he passed…

* * *

"_What about your weapons and armour? My people said that only mages and thralls ever go above the fourth floor, unless some case like Shayle's is presented, and you need to get to the sixth. You're not going to sneak up there disguised as a noble and servant and hope for the best, are you?"_

"_We'll both be carrying some smaller hidden weapons on the way in, but our usual equipment will be waiting for us. Shayle?"_

"_So I was assured. Wynne trusted these apprentice mages a great deal. I believe they even warned her that the spirit within her was generating…interest. I don't like mages on principle; they are power-hungry parasites with over-bloated egos, but Wynne I trust, and if she trusted them then I will too...despite their annoying behaviour and tendency not to shut up—"_

"_Shayle…"_

"_What? Oh, very well. Airlia and Kato have already smuggled the leathers, weapons, poisons and tools into their rooms. They also have spare mage robes that will fit over the armour, and some of those daft hats their kind are so fond of. It should be enough of a disguise to get the Crows up to the sixth level."_

"_A combination of stealth and guile, yes? So long as no one spots us and asks us to take part in any magic, we should get along just fine."_

"_So long as those mages don't betray us either. Are we expected to believe they don't care about the consequences of sneaking two assassins into the tower? They don't mind if we kill any of their friends or associates?"_

"_Besides freeing the thralls, their only request was that if death is necessary it be restricted to our marks on the sixth floor."_

"_And _I_ promised them the painted elf and treacherous Warden would keep that request," Shayle said darkly._

"_In so many words, I daresay?" Xai's lips stretched into a smile. "I will not break your oath, Lady Cadash. Zevran may not have told you this, but I am_ _something of an expert on not killing people."_

* * *

The two assassins shed their outer clothes and began strapping on leathers in the relative safety of Airlia's domicile. It wasn't large, boasting a grand total of two rooms: one for sleeping, one for studying and recreation. It was the abode of a student.

"Do all mages here live so?" Zevran wondered aloud, using the King's Tongue. He'd been surprised to learn many Tevinters knew the language of Ferelden until it had been explained that Denerim being Andraste's birth place had always generated plenty of interest in both the tongue and the distant barbarian land. "I had the fortune to visit the Antivan Circle of Magi once. The rooms there were much more generous. As were the beds," he added with a sly grin.

"Not many live within the tower itself," came Airlia's Tevinter-accented reply as she dragged a box of tightly-stoppered bottles and vials from the adjoining room—their poisons of choice. "Mostly only those of us studying abroad and without the means or willingness to pay for lodgings in the city. All ranking magisters have rooms reserved, but they have their own towers or estates to see to. Only the First Enchanter really lives here on a permanent basis."

"And he's currently off fighting qunari, correct?" Xai asked in an off-hand tone that nevertheless drew Zevran's attention.

"I told you this already. All magisters are obliged to protect the empire when called, even the Grand Enchanter—who is also our Divine, lest you're unaware. First Enchanter Lysander left for the warfront over a month ago, well before you arrived in Minrathous. He took some of his thralls, including Valdaran Dasu, but left Ciela and the others in the charge of his apprentice Carolos." Airlia put her hands on her hips, scowling a little. "If you're having second thoughts about this and want to wait until he returns so you can try to rescue them both, I really must advise against—"

"No," Xai said, fastening a buckle across his chest as he threw a smirk at her. "Just ensuring the situation hadn't changed. He could have returned, after all."

"I would have told you if he had," the mage told him, sounding slightly peeved. "He's due back in at least a week, so you'll have a good head start if he decides to chase you. That should be plenty of time to reach the Nevarran border and the protection of the Templars, unless you have other plans."

Zevran paused in the act of pulling on his gloves and cast about for a moment. "Our weapons…?" he asked.

"Kato has them. Do you want me to see what's taking him so long?"

"Much as I hate to be robbed of your presence for any stretch of time, my beautiful mage," Zevran said extravagantly, "we are on a time limit, alas."

Once she was gone, a light blush colouring her cheeks, Zevran picked up his gloves and eyed Xai narrowly as he pulled them on. "This First Enchanter Lysander is of interest to you, hm?"

Xai let out a long breath through his nose. "The First Enchanter I slew...his apprentice was named Lysander, but I never had anything to do with him. We never spoke or interacted. I have no designs against him, if that's what you're asking."

"But there is a risk, no? That your mark's code was passed on to his apprentice Lysander, and we are to deal with this _Lysander's_ apprentice now."

"Keep your voice down," Xai muttered, glancing towards the door. "_If _they are the same person, yes, there is a risk. There was _always_ a risk of bumping into someone familiar with my code, if not familiar with me. You knew this."

Zevran chuckled and gave him a dry little smile. "It seems more of a certainty now, my friend, does it not? So, then. Does our resident Master Crow have some way to protect his team from unfortunate accidents?"

"Are you worried someone will order me to kill you, Zevran?"

"Ahh, no, no…we both know where _that_ will lead, yes? But I am allowed to be concerned that some random command will drop you on your hands and knees at an inconvenient moment."

"I am fairly sure that I will have…minimal trouble ignoring orders that are not given directly to me," Xai said after a moment of silent contemplation. "But it's true…I am not certain. At your command, I can make use of this." He crossed to the box Airlia had pulled out, picked up a jar and tossed it to Zevran. The elf unscrewed the lid, sniffed the thick yellow contents and made a disbelieving sound.

"Beeswax? You intend to plug your ears?"

"If it seems necessary. Or I can leave and you to attempt this mission solo," Xai said, catching the jar on the return toss. "It's your call…Master Arainai."

"And you would simply leave if I told you to, hm?"

"Why not? It would give me something to gloat about when I rescued you." The man smirked. "In fact, how about we wager a glass of Antivan brandy that you'd _thank _me on bended knee for your deliverance."

Zevran laughed derisively. "Because your first attempt at rescuing me from the common slave cages met with such success, yes? You didn't even manage to make it inside the tower, as I recall."

Xai's smile hitched. He bent his attention to the box to hide it, retrieving a jar of bright magenta liquid with one hand and a thick white cloth with the other. Zevran's satisfaction at seeing the man whose counter-insults usually came as smooth as silk reduced to speechlessness changed to disbelief when Xai began, in a voice that sounded hesitant and _apologetic_, "I tried, but—" He froze, frowned, shook himself as though coming awake and looked at the bottle in his hand. "Dwarf Dream," he said, giving it a little wave. "Knocks a man out so hard he misses the Fade on the way through. Good for ensuring a nice, long, dreamless sleep—particularly handy against blood mages and their dreamwalking abilities."

"And former slaves who don't wish to be tracked via their dreams?" Zevran put in shrewdly, which earned him a dispassionate glance.

"Highly addictive and toxic if used frequently. Must be inhaled or ingested." Xai unstoppered the jar, held the cloth to its mouth and arched a brow at the elf as he began to tip the fluid. "How much are you willing to risk that our two mages are trustworthy? If they are, then we lose nothing by neutralising them—their purpose is done past this point. If, however, they _do _intend to betray us…"

"Better safe than sorry, hm?"

"Words to stay alive by, Zevran."

* * *

"_On the second hour every afternoon, Carolos—that's the blood mage in charge of Ciela with the First Enchanter away—makes his circuit of the thralls."_

"_What's that mean? What's he doing to her?"_

"_Continuing her training I expect, Shianni. The routine can differ between blood mages masters. Shayle has learned that Carolos is on the cruel side, much like his mentor. Magistra Phaedra, on the other hand, inherited her thralls rather than acquiring them herself. She is reputed to be a kindly mistress."_

"_Kindly, you say? That woman tried to crush me to death."_

"_The painted elf says that as though enjoying the sight of crushing an annoying bug is a bad thing."_

"_Bugs I do not mind crushing—especially the ones that leave you with those little itchy bites. They are most unpleasant. Elves on the other hand, elves like _me _in particular…not so much, no."_

"_As I was saying, Carolos is one of our marks. He's a blood mage who dabbles in hexes and electric spells. The others are the thrall-keeper and two aides, but the duty is rotated; what schools they specialise in we won't know unless we get hit. I suggest we try to avoid that."_

"_Four mages sounds rather…hazardous to one's health, my friend. Is there some secret to taking them all out without getting shot full of lightning?"_

"_How good are you at moving silently and striking from the shadows, Zevran?"_

_

* * *

_

Zevran wrapped his arm tightly around the mage's waist, pinning one of her arms as she struggled in his grasp and clutched at the hand holding the dosed cloth to her face. He tried not to be brutal about it for he didn't like leaving bruises or scars, especially not on those he had no intentions of killing.

"Hush now, my dear, do not fear," he murmured in Airlia's ear as her thrashing weakened. "This is for our peace of mind as much as for your protection."

Not far away, Xai had Kato similarly restrained but wasn't bothering with soothing words; his captive was fighting too hard for them to matter.

It was over quickly. Zevran hoisted the young woman into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, where he arranged her to look like she'd merely nodded off. Xai dragged Kato into the same room, put a spare pillow under his head a blanket over his legs and left it at that.

"How long will they be out?" Zevran asked as he folded the cloth tightly and put it away.

"Several hours. Midnight at the earliest. And they will not awaken easily if someone disturbs them."

"That's quite the sleeping draught, my friend. You will have to share the recipe."

"Another time, if you're serious," Xai said with a shrug. He picked up one of the mage robes Airlia had provided and flung it over his armour, then put on one of the Tevinter style feathered cowls.

"The mages will have to be blind to not notice we're wearing armour under these things," Zevran muttered, donning his shorter robe. The hat, a blue velvet creation with golden embroidery and a small cluster of white feathers at its pointed peak, he studied with considerable reluctance before fitting over his hair and ears.

"Mage armour is not a rarity in Tevinter," Xai said, straightening his clothes in the reflection of the mirror in the bedroom, "not with the war. Moreover, this isn't Ferelden or Antiva where the Chantry issues standard robes to every mage. Tevinters have a lot more freedom in their fashion; except for some rank restrictions to senior Enchanters, they wear whatever they like."

Zevran checked his own reflection when Xai had moved away, and glared a little at the befeathered hat before smoothing out some creases and adjusting the magebane-anointed sword hidden at his hip.

"Time to go," Xai said quietly after a moment, picking up a staff.

Zevran returned, claiming the other staff on the way. "I am ready."

The Grey Warden listened silently at the door for a few seconds, head cocked and eyes distant, then gave Zevran a quick nod and pulled it open.

One after the other, the two former Antivan Crows stepped quietly back out into the Circle Tower of Minrathous.


	16. Mage Tower

The atmosphere on the fifth floor of the tower was very different to the one below. While the fourth had possessed an almost homey lived-in feeling, made all the more palpable by the dorms and comfortably-appointed open lounge areas, the fifth was clearly a place of serious business.

Zevran followed Xai's lead, walking as though he belonged in these magic-filled halls, and observed as much as he could as the two of them made their way down the curved stone corridor. On the whole, he thought, it didn't seem so different from the Circle Tower in Antiva. The rooms branching towards the outer edge of the structure were being put to various uses by robed individuals: some resembled lecture halls, others training rooms with spells sizzling the air, one was filled from wall to wall with shelves of thick tomes, a couple looked like workshops or alchemy labs.

All that was lacking were templars, Zevran mused. He'd expected to see a grisly array of blood magic victims or any of a dozen kinds of maleficar evil that the Tevinter Imperium was regularly accused of by the non-Imperial Chantry, but it all felt rather…scholarly and _pleasant_, and not in the least bit oppressive. Of course, that would likely change if he was revealed as an assassin rather than a mage, but for now…

He found himself smirking a little at the thought of Wynne having been here. During the Blight, the woman had gone on at length about the benefits of mages being watched and 'protected' by templars and Chantry—she and Morrigan had quibbled about it endlessly, with much flashings of eye and heavings of bosom—and he wondered if it might have come as a shock to her seeing mages governing themselves without armoured guardians watching their every move.

They were halfway to the stairwell that would take them upstairs when a commotion from ahead made both assassins check their pace. Four white-garbed thralls were striding towards them, two on either side of a grim-faced but pale human woman dressed in nothing but a shift and manacles, while the third thrall marched directly ahead and the last behind. Of the three who had visible tattoos branded on their faces, all were glowing white but their eyes, while glazed, were normal.

Behind them followed five cowled magisters.

Other mages in the corridor pressed up against the walls to make way, but before the group reached Zevran and Xai they turned down a side corridor leading towards a central room rather than an outer chamber. An excited buzz of gossip filled the air afterwards, with several mages not a part of the delegation hurrying curiously after, so Zevran felt it safe to murmur, "What was that about? A potential thrall?"

Xai quirked a brow and paused, listening to the chatter in the corridor before answering. "A spy from Val Royeaux," he said at last.

"A bard?"

"A templar. Let's keep moving." He stiffened when Zevran's hand shot out to grab his arm, but kept his voice low and dry. "Or not?"

"They have thralls with them, no?" Zevran reasoned quietly. "How long will they take? Is there a chance they will come upon us upstairs?"

Xai's hesitation was so fleeting Zevran wondered if he'd imagined it. "We are not going into the ritual chamber to ask them, if that's what you're proposing."

"No," Zevran drawled, "I thought we could seduce them all into a wild, magic-fuelled orgy and loosen their lips with our tongues."

The human's expression at that sarcasm-smothered remark was withering, but he muttered, "We will be cutting it fine, but I can listen in if you wish."

"No orgy?" Zevran chuckled. "Have it your way."

"_My_ way?" Xai echoed, a dark smile dawning, but whatever he'd intended to say next fell into silence as a group of mages swept around and past them in an excited multi-coloured rush smelling of incense, all seemingly intent on the chamber the others had entered. "No guarantees," Xai said under his breath, and attached himself to the end of the group with Zevran tagging along.

The ritual chamber, such as Xai had named it and Shayle described it, was an amphitheatre: several tiers of wooden benches atop stone steps leading down to a wide open circular area. In the very middle stood the almost-naked templar, the four thralls forming a loose circle around her, and one of the magisters, bestaffed and black-robed, standing in wait. The other four, Zevran noticed as he and Xai claimed seats close by the door, were sitting in the front row.

More mages were filing into the room and picking seats as the seconds ticked past. Two claimed places directly in front of Zevran, one leaning in to her companion and whispering in accented King's Tongue, "That's a templar? Doesn't look so scary."

"You haven't seen them in action," whispered the other, "in their armour and with their swords. They kill you back home in Ferelden, or drag you away to be made Tranquil, just for wanting to live a free life."

"You're safe here, don't worry."

And as the magister down below began to speak Arcanum in a loud, impressive voice, Zevran was granted a whispered translation.

"You see before you a templar," he called to the watching students and enchanters. "A magehunter of Orlais. She was masquerading as a sister in our own Grand Chantry, no doubt to get close to the Holy Divine, but was eventually discovered with these on her person." The magister drew a slender vial of bright blue serum from the sleeve of his robe and held it up for all to see. There was no mistaking that brilliant colour for anything but lyrium.

"Templars," the magister said, approaching the chained woman, "are addicted to lyrium on purpose by the so-called 'White Chantry.'" He waited for the mutterings this stirred to subside. "The corrupt priesthood that accuses _us _of blasphemy abuses the Waters of the Fade to enslave their 'holy warriors', just as they take the blood of mages into phylacteries to control and monitor our tower-caged brothers and sisters." He held the vial to a thrall and nodded to one of the seated magisters in the front row. At once, the thrall took the lyrium and waved it tauntingly towards the templar; she stared at it with lips parted before shuddering and turning her face away, lank brown hair straggling around her face.

The magister continued. "Their minds are trained as vigorously as their bodies, making any one templar a tough opponent for a lone mage to overcome or escape. Take note if you have never encountered one: magical resistance to thwart your spells, a stubborn mental fortitude that can knock back even the mind-affecting influences of blood magic, an aura they can summon to rip down your carefully woven shields and, let's not forget, the ability to suck our magical energies away. Their skills are both dangerous and impressive. We mages like to think ourselves all-powerful, but we are not immortal. Arrow or blade can kill us quite neatly. So how do we compete against a fully-trained veteran agent of Orlesian hypocrisy?"

He took a few steps back, faced the templar and made several gestures in quick succession. Electric sparks spat and glittered towards their target, but diffused just short of striking. A stone fist hurtled after the first spell, as solid as the tower walls, but it shattered and blew to dust without the templar even flinching. A searing bolt of fire followed only to vanish into curls of silver smoke.

There were murmurings of surprise and no little disbelief at the spectacle, as though the templar had performed some impressively ironic magic trick.

The chained woman spat upon the floor and lifted her chin defiantly.

"The answer, of course, is blood magic," the magister went on, unperturbed. "The increased power it grants can overcome a lone templar's defences with ease, even a group of them if you catch them by surprise. A word of warning, however, that it will not grant you control of their bodies or minds without experience and training, so don't try if you're in fear of your life, but even in the hands of an apprentice, blood magic can buy you time to escape or, if necessary, kill."

A simultaneous stiffening and arching of the four thralls' spines was followed by patterns of blood spattering across the fronts of their pristine white armour. The templar gasped something in Orlesian at the sight, her eyes gone wide, and before she could do anything else the magister made a grasping gesture with one hand. She stumbled in place then stood rooted, her body trembling violently and her face contorted. Sweat sprang up all across her body. For a full five seconds she was held before being released, at which point she collapsed face-down on the floor and was audibly sobbing. Around her, the postures of the four thralls relaxed but did not otherwise move; no flickers of expression, no sounds of pain or relief, their brands still glowing, their faces still blank.

"Over the next hour I will go through some basic techniques you can use to defend yourselves against predators like this, using your own blood or multiple sources as I have just demonstrated. The more sources you can pull upon, the less danger of unintended harm. I pray to the Maker you will never need to defend yourselves thus, but some of you have fled the Circle Towers of other nations, your phylacteries still intact…" The magister gestured to the prone templar, his face grave, "…and as you can see not even the walls of Minrathous are impervious to a dedicated magehunter. Learn well, and you need not fear them. Magistra Madazzi, would you be so kind as to heal our test subject and check on the blood slaves before we continue?"

Muted conversation broke out around the chamber as one of the other magisters descended to the dais to perform the requested tasks, some few of the watching mages getting up to leave and most talking animatedly amongst themselves. Seeing this as an excellent opportunity to depart without attracting attention, Zevran rose and gave his companion a discreet prod to the shoulder when Xai remained unmoving. The human stood immediately at the prompt and swept for the exit with unhurried steps, one hand stifling a huge yawn, but it was not enough to conceal the pallor in his face from Zevran's narrowed gaze. One of the departing mages noticed the Warden's apparent boredom and said something with a laugh, to which Xai smiled wryly and answered, sparking more amusement.

When Zevran didn't laugh (and he mentally kicked himself for forgetting to play along, distracted as he'd been by Xai's behaviour), he was pointed at and queried. Xai's response included 'Antiva' and a gesture indicating the upper floors of the tower, which earned Zevran some glances and oddly pitying expressions, but seemed to pass muster.

"Come along," Xai said at last, in Antivan, "let's not keep them waiting."

"What did you tell them about me?" Zevran asked in a suspicious undertone as they proceeded down the corridor.

"Does it matter?" the other man retorted, his voice managing to be both soft and cutting at the same time. "I was lying to cover your slip."

Zevran wasn't about to let that shot pass. "O-ho, this from the man who would still be sitting in that ritual chamber enjoying the show if I hadn't poked him awake, as it were."

"Memories getting the better of me," Xai muttered reluctantly. "It won't happen again." Then he summoned a sneer to his face. "What's your excuse, Arainai? Get distracted by a passing pair of breasts? That is why you're here isn't it? To impress a woman?"

Zevran almost had to swallow his tongue to keep from a scathing reply as a pair of mages passed in the opposite direction. He took a slow, deep breath, sternly reminding himself that a good assassin did _not _blow his own cover by killing a companion in a populated hallway. That sort of thing could wait for later.

When he had the leisure to relish every second of it.

"Well, I _do _enjoy a shapely bosom," the elf said at last. He ran a deliberate gaze down the human's robed body. "When is the last time you had the pleasure of one, my friend?"

Xai acted as though he hadn't noticed the appraisal. "I'm surprised that kind of thing didn't get you killed back in Antiva."

"A week? A month? No need to be shy."

"If only because you never shut up about it."

"Surely not a year!"

They both stopped and looked at each other. Or rather, Xai looked; Zevran leered.

"Last night," the Warden said. "Human guard at the embassy. Sophia by name. Brown hair, blue eyes, long legs, very enthusiastic, screamed my name several times and wept when I said we'd never see each other again."

They resumed walking.

After a bit, Zevran hmmed to himself and said, "Tell me, does anyone ever _believe _these stories you are so fond of spinning?"

A corner of Xai's lips twitched upwards. "Tales such as Rinna being a setup?" He chuckled softly when Zevran failed to reply and glanced at the elf sidelong. "Why is Sophia so obviously a deception? What is a story of sex compared to lies like a cold-blooded murderer becoming a changed man? Trustworthy? A hero? 'Good'?" His lip curled again. "Or do _you_ subscribe to that fantasy too?"

"Tell me," Zevran said, very quietly, his anger simmering again. "Is it your intent to anger me here, in this place of blood mages, Xai Merras?"

Whether he interpreted that as a threat or a warning that Zevran's patience was reaching its limit, the Warden fell silent and turned his now perfectly composed gaze ahead. Zevran walked at his side, trying to force emotions back behind his cold Crow calm, but his treacherous thoughts were buzzing at the former master's words.

He wasn't here to _impress_ anyone, not Asleena Cousland, not Shianni. He didn't consider himself 'good', no pure champion or righteous hero, nor did he believe he'd ever pretended or wanted to be such.

Or had he?

"_You're a good man," _one or another of them would say sometimes, with pride, affection or, in one notable instance on Alistair's part, startled disbelief. As often as Zevran laughed such comments off or turned them aside with lewd humour, it had both secretly embarrassed and pleased him to hear these words…every time. He was used to having his talents at killing or making love praised, not his intentions.

Motive was unimportant amongst the Crows. Why a person did what didn't matter so long as the deed was done. "A masterful kill," "A smooth seduction," "A perfect heist," "A productive interrogation," "An excellent assassin." Success and failure and skill mattered. Good and evil didn't figure into the equation. They had no place in that world.

They had no place _here_, he reminded himself, as the great stone stairs leading up to the next level loomed.

While it was true his friendship with certain Grey Wardens had…influenced his actions and perceptions in recent times, he was hardly reformed. His enjoyment of the hunt and love of the kill were as strong as ever, no? His considerable assassin abilities had merely been focussed elsewhere, from the killing of darkspawn to the liberating of elven slaves.

Muddy the practical discipline of an assassin with morality and wondering what was right or wrong would only breed hesitation, such as he'd displayed with that apprentice mage down in the slave pens when he'd escaped his cage.

Surely a 'good' person would have found a way to spare her.

…surely a cold-blooded murderer would have forgotten about her by now…

* * *

The top of the staircase terminated in a single long straight corridor. Zevran and Xai had quieted their steps upon nearing the top, and now paused below the landing to peer over the edge and listen to the muted sound of voices.

Xai had described the sixth floor thus:

Four main passages meeting at a circular centre like a crossroads, where the 'front desk' and its attendants (three mages) could be found. At the end of the branches, only one staircase down, three up. At regular intervals, branching corridors leading to the spell-sealed cells. Ciela Tabris could be in any one of these, and Xai had not been able to say for sure how many there were. At least twenty-five. When he had last been here, he'd encountered no extra wards or traps to deter unwelcome guests; the mages had been confident in their own abilities to prevent any and all trouble.

Of course, that had all been _before _a blood thrall had killed their First Enchanter and escaped the tower. Things could have changed, and neither of the two young mages who had aided their infiltration had been able to advise what security measures there might be, if any.

Zevran removed his mage hat and stowed it away, turning it inside-out first to protect the feathers, and Xai followed his example, though he moved more hesitantly. Their robes had been chosen with an eye to the nondescript so were not gaudy enough to warrant removing, and with their packs left behind there was nowhere to hide such large garments in any case.

"Remember what to do?" Xai breathed, to which Zevran gave a silent if irritated nod.

Both assassins watched the mages at their distant post, waiting for that perfect moment to move without being seen and planning mental routes that afforded the best possible measures of concealment. Unlike the lower slave pens, which had been bare and uninviting, this blood thrall prison was warmly decorated with leafy plants and aesthetically pleasing sculptures. A long white carpet that must have been a royal pain to keep clean stretched the entire length of the passage. Zevran wasn't going to object to anything that would keep his steps silent or grant extra cover, but the overall ambience he was picking up on put him in the uncomfortable mind of a place of recreation, not subjection. Perhaps it was just a façade, and the cells of the thralls themselves would be different…

"Don't act too early or too late, or we'll both regret it."

Zevran muttered, "I am not an apprentice, my friend," and to prove his words slipped quietly up to the sixth floor without waiting another second. Moving carefully from shadow to flickering shadow, pausing whenever a head turned his way and making himself a part of the tower's lavish Tevinter ornamentation, Zevran drifted with familiar ease to the first pair of side passages and slid into one of them. As soon as he'd reached his temporary hiding place he glanced curiously down the passage and saw a sequence of shimmering fields that no doubt represented cell doors. He wasn't close enough to see through any of them from where he stood, so he glanced back towards the stairwell.

Xai was still back there. He hadn't moved—no, he _had _moved…into clear view onto the main floor. The man had taken just enough steps to make a start then stopped dead.

From the floor a sigil of blood red light blazed forth, enclosing Xai Merras in a crimson cage.

It seemed the magisters had updated their security after all.


	17. Uneven Odds

Zevran pressed himself flat to the wall as urgent voices drew nearer then the three mages strode quickly past him, their backs to his place of concealment. Again he had to curse his ignorance of Arcanum, but from their tones and body language as they reached the spellbound Xai it was clear the Warden was causing them some confusion. The mage robes, perhaps, or the fact he was _entering _the level rather than fleeing it, or that none of them recognised his face as belonging to a thrall?

Of course, there was also the fact that none of them would recognise his face as that of a _magister_…

The elf in the shadows watched on, his breathing controlled as he prayed for the impossible: that the disguise would simply lead to Xai being released and the glyph shrugged off as some kind of magical aberration. Too much longer and Ciela's master would be arriving, and Zevran wasn't sure he could easily deal with _three _mages.

The mages seemed come to some sort of agreement. The one with the fanciest hat said something to the trapped Warden in polite, formal tones, then bowed and drew a dagger from his own belt, which he drew across his palm. He made a few arcane gestures and Xai's half-crouched half-walking posture straightened, the red light of the glyph vanishing. Just as Zevran began to release a slow breath of relief, Xai began to remove his own mage robe with stilted, unnatural movements and a blank expression. When the garments pooled at his feet, revealing his swords and leather armour and causing the mages to exchange glances, Zevran swore in the silence of his own head. One mage said something and the other two nodded; Xai's hands started to work at removing the leather covering his chest, which would uncover the lyrium brand over his heart.

Shedding his own robe to provide as much freedom of movement as possible, Zevran stuffed it behind a potted fern and pulled a freeze bomb from his padded belt pouch. It was the only one he'd brought with him, enough to get him out of a tight situation if need be, and slow down any pursuers if the super-cold liquid numbed legs and feet. Considering his previous visit to the tower, he'd considered the precaution a prudent one.

But just as he started to slink around the corner to get within throwing range, a sprig of feathers appeared behind Xai—a mage coming up the stairs—and Zevran barely managed to whip back around the corner before the new arrival saw him.

_Brasca! _

Heart pounding, cold seeping through the leather of his gloves, he risked peeking and saw the newcomer, still facing down the corridor towards Zevran rather than away, being appraised of the situation while Xai continued to remove his own armour. The position of all four mages would make it tricky, nigh impossible, to splash all of them, even if he lobbed the flask directly at Xai's skull. He wasn't willing to gamble they'd fall for a diversion and just run after him to be picked off one by one, not with the stairs right there and thralls to flush him out…

_Come now, ser mage, you wish to come around the front with your fellows, yes…?_

No…no, he did not…not until Xai's leathers were removed, his undershirt pulled off over his head, and his small spidery tattoo made visible, gleaming white under the effects of the blood control spell.

With all four mages now distracted, backs turned, Zevran gripped the chilled flask and moved quickly on silent feet around the corner, only to dive behind a tall statue as one of first three mages backed away from his fellows while saying something, then turned and jogged up the corridor, past Zevran and off to the desks he'd first been seated at. The assassin remained still for a moment as he flicked through his options, decided one target would be better odds than three, and silently withdrew back to the shelter of the side passage, alternating his attention between the lone mage who was rooting through a box of papers, to the three who were staring at Xai's mark and talking amongst themselves.

After a couple of tense minutes, the mage at the desk called out triumphantly, flourishing a paper, and hurried back towards his colleagues. Checking to ensure the other mages were still preoccupied with Xai, Zevran put aside his bomb, pulled the Dwarf Dream-soaked cloth from a leather pouch and coiled himself, ready to spring.

The mage hastened past his hiding place, oblivious…

…Zevran dashed out on cat-quiet feet, moving _fast _and_ strong _and using the momentum to lift the slightly-built human off his feet and whirl him around, clear across the corridor and into the recess of the opposite passage with the dosed cloth clamped over mouth and nose, free arm wrapped tightly around waist. Parchment fluttered ghost-like to the floor as the man struggled briefly, his protests muffled and inaudible to the three talking mages, then he weakened and went limp. The former Crow held his position a moment longer to make sure the drug had fully sunk in, then wasted no more time whisking the body into the shadow of a decorative urn. He returned quickly for the abandoned paper, a yellowing sheaf that bore Tevinter runes and the swirling ink of two distinct patterns, the smaller of which Zevran recognised as Xai's lyrium brand. When one of the other mages calling out a question reminded him that now might not be the time to examine his find too closely, Zevran folded the parchment with a couple of quick motions and slid it within his armour.

"Basilius!" came the repeated shout, followed by a frustrated word Zevran took to be something uncomplimentary. He grinned to himself, welcoming the release of tension that brief moment of action had achieved, the _exhilaration_. Even Shayle's orders not to kill anyone felt less of an annoyance now and more like a challenge.

There was a short argument between the three remaining mages, but rather than one of them going alone to seek the fate of the first as Zevran had hoped, all three headed towards the central area with Xai followed blank-eyed behind them, his discarded equipment and clothes borne in his own arms. Pulling back out of sight as the group went by (one of the mages turned his head to glance down each side passage in passing), Zevran weighed the wisdom of trying to seize Xai before deciding against it as too hasty a move. So long as he remained undiscovered and no more mages tipped the balance, there was still a chance.

_Bide your time…_

Glancing once towards the stairs down to assure himself the coast was clear, Zevran tailed the group and took refuge behind a tediously familiar white statue of a robed woman as the mages reached the central area. He watched from around a shapely carved posterior as more words were exchanged, the name 'Basilius' shouted a couple more times, a ledger written in and stamped with a seal dangling from the late mage's sash, and the mage who was neither Xai's handler nor the one who had arrived late rummaged through the box the parchment with Xai's mark had come from. This went on for several minutes, long enough that Zevran began to cast frequent anxious glances towards the staircase. Fortunately he was not the only one growing impatient, as the late mage started arguing with Fancy Hat. This ended with the latter throwing his hands up in frustration, handing control of Xai over to his assistant (or, at least, that's what Zevran assumed; the assistant cut his palm, surely to renew the spell?), and leading the other mage further up the corridor.

That left the assistant and Xai in the central area. The Warden simply stood, immobile and ignored, brand agleam, while the mage returned to his box of files. He reached for them to continue his search, remembered his bleeding left hand, growled an angry word, and proceeded to fumble through the box one-handed, head bent to his task. Beyond, the other two mages reached a side passage and vanished within.

"_This is what will happen," _Xai had explained back at the embassy, _"the mages sustaining the cell door barrier will unweave the spell together. The thrall's master will enter the cell alone and subdue the slave, then the mages will re-establish the barrier from both sides. After that, the passage itself will be sealed to prevent others from observing or interfering. We _must _take down those two mages before the cell barrier is restored. Once one of them is on the other side of that field we won't be able to get to him _or _Ciela until he chooses the lower the barrier again, and if he knows we're here that's not likely to happen. Worse, he can draw on her blood to summon allies or attack us, while being completely out of _our_ reach."_

"_But if he didn't know we were present, we could wait, yes?"_

"_In theory, but I assure you that Ciela Tabris will be in no condition to assist in her own escape after a full training session. As carrying an elf girl through six tower levels might arouse suspicion, I suggest we try to do it right the first time, Arainai."_

And on top of that, in lessthan an hour those magisters and thralls one level down would be returning. Time was, as they so liked to say, of the essence.

Zevran crept stealthily from his hiding place, skirting around the chamber. Unlike the passages, the floor here wasn't carpeted and he was forced to place his feet more lightly, move with less speed. He sidled with care, circling, breath all but held, attention riveted on the mage until he felt sure he'd gotten beyond periphery vision and could risk quickening his step. Reaching the next patch of snowy white carpet, he ran on silent feet for the passage the other two mages had taken and promptly came face to face with Fancy Hat as he came out in the opposite direction, alone.

Jaw dropped. Eyes widened.

"Buh—!" the mage shouted, a fraction of a second before Zevran drove a fist into his stomach and shoved him backwards, then kneed him hard in the groin to give him something to think about besides casting spells.

There was a questioning call from back in the main corridor as the assassin once again plied his drugged cloth. A quick perusal of the side passage told him what he'd already guessed: Ciela's handler had already entered her cell. When the mage beneath his grip finally went still, he went swiftly to the shimmery purple barriers and peered through each one in turn. There, in the last of the sealed cells, in a room that resembled the white-draped pleasure chambers of the Silver Veil whorehouse of Markham City, stood the magister, his back to the door and Zevran, a blonde elf in white on her hands and knees before him with her brow pressed to the floor.

He was too late.

"_Mati go mhero,_" the mage commanded.

Slowly, the elven thrall sat up into a kneeling position, her lyrium tattoo glittering blue, chin lifted towards the magister's face…_her eyes closed…_

Zevran found himself staring at the familiar scene and half-remembered words…

An amused chuckle came from the mage. He started to shrug out of his heavy outer robe and purred, "_Harth."_

_Xai's command words!_

Eyes the colour of amethysts opened…

"_His ma vansk!"_ Zevran shouted.

The magister turned, his face a perfect picture of surprise when he beheld the assassin, then a marvellous image of panic as he realised his error.

The thrall jumped on her master from behind. Her legs wrapped around his waist, an arm locked around his throat before he could manage to give voice to a countermand, and her bare fist smashed repeatedly and viciously into his face as he clawed, struggled, choked, then simply attempted to dislodge her by ramming her bodily against one of the stone walls.

"_His ma v—argh!"_

The keen edge of Xai's Imperial Edge ripped into Zevran's right side, tearing a path of agony from shoulder to ribs. Zevran reeled back, virtually bending over backwards to avoid the second blade's swing at his head. He lost his balance when a wave of unnatural vertigo seized his mind. The mage! He hit the ground and rolled desperately across the floor to avoid any descending sword-strokes, clawing for his blades and managing to free his sword in time to deflect an inelegant overhand attack delivered by the enthralled Xai. The human stared down at him expressionlessly and lifted his other sword. No assassin would be fighting like this, Zevran knew. Even at the embassy when provoked by the kill command, Xai's attacks had been fast and furious, driven by a mind that knew its own abilities and weaknesses in intimate detail.

Xai's swords suddenly burst into flames. Zevran's magic-addled brain couldn't help watching as the crimson and gold tongues of fire rippled lazily from hilt to point, throwing the passageway into an eerie pattern of coloured shadows. He found himself wondering at how beautiful it looked, even as the burning blade began its lethal descent.

A white and red-spattered figure plunged into Xai from the side, slamming him into the passage wall and sending one of his swords clattering. The blonde thrall snatched up this new weapon and flew at the mage with a snarl. Zevran stumbled upright and away from Xai as the mage levelled his staff; a bolt of crackling lightning turning the world _white _for the barest of instants_. _Ciela was struck square in the chest and stumbled, toppling with a scream of pain, then the mage lifted his bleeding right hand palm out towards _Zevran_, who had a flash-fast recollection of Magister Ezio out in the city making that self-same gesture a second before his blood had ignited in his veins.

_Brasca…Not! AGAIN!_

Zevran _roared_, vision deserting him in a wash of bloody colour, angry light and pure agony, furious that _this _was how it would end after everything else life had thrown at him, but as suddenly as the spell gripped him it was then gone. He slumped sideways into a wall, fingers digging spasmodically into the stone and mortar, lungs gasping air and relief in equal measure, mind dimly aware of similar sounds coming from Xai just behind him as, up ahead, Ciela Tabris wrenched the Warden's Imperial Edge from the mage's chest and struck his head from his shoulders in a spurt of blood, the golden flames that still danced across the blade dying as their master did.


	18. Thralls

The disorient spell lifted with a suddenness that almost made Zevran lurch sideways. Shaking his head in an effort to escape the lingering pain of the blood magic, he pushed back and away from the wall, gripping his sword tightly to still the trembling of his fingers. He had to wrap his left hand around his right to get a good hold; the burning throb in his wounded shoulder and restricted movement in his entire right arm telling him the damage was bad. Not life-threatening, but severely crippling and painful. Without magical healing he might not be able to use his arm properly for weeks. Without a poultice or compress it would swell and become increasingly agonising.

He forced himself to ignore this for now and favour the two thralls in the passage with his attention, either or both of whom might still be a threat to him.

Xai, one Imperial Edge still in his left hand, the other clenched tight over his tattoo and twitching spasmodically, had pushed himself into a kneeling position and was watching Ciela where she stood near the entrance of the passage where it connected to the main corridor. The blonde thrall stood over the body of the mage who'd both been controlling Xai and had shot her with lightning, and, not content with a mere heart-stroke and decapitation, was hacking viciously at the corpse like a woman gone berserk. The walls around her were already streaked with the evidence of her fury.

Zevran glanced into the elven woman's former cell. The magister Carolos lay dead on the white bedspread, his blood soaking a spreading rose pattern across otherwise pristine linens. His face was a wreck—there were multiple stab wounds to his chest, and a small dagger Zevran now recognised as the sort these blood mages carried around for the purpose of cutting themselves was buried to the hilt in the soft flesh beneath his chin, angling up into the brain.

"Knife-ears," Xai called suddenly, gaining both Zevran's attention as well as Ciela's. "You missed one." The former master pointed, indicating the drugged mage with the fancy hat Zevran had left slumped by the wall.

"Wait—! _Ma feca!_" Zevran swore as another head rolled across the floor and glared down at the human, who had watched the dismemberment with a smile. "Are you forgetting we promised Shayle no deaths?"

"We promised _we _wouldn't take any lives, Zevran," Xai corrected, somewhat distantly. "Besides, a little late for getting self-righteous, isn't it? Didn't I hear you use Ciela to kill Carolos? Swift thinking there, by the way. I applaud you."

"You also tried to kill me," Zevran reminded him, turning his head and attempting to get a good view of his wound. "Again."

"That mage was directing me, not the words. A blood control spell can't be overruled by verbal commands, they don't work like that." Xai gave Zevran's torn shoulder a critical look. "Be grateful he didn't have very good aim."

Ciela left off her butchery and stalked down the passage towards them, her bare feet leaving a trail of crimson prints on the snowy carpet, Xai's dripping sword still at the ready. Her white shirt and skirt were soaked red, face and waist-length hair liberally smeared, but the delicate tracery of lyrium around her right eye glittered through the gore. Zevran attempted to find a charming smile and opened his mouth to say some tension-melting witticism about getting out of here while they still could, but was forced into an exclamation of surprise when the woman suddenly rushed him with a shout, blade thrusting for his heart. His own sword lashed across to deflect her Imperial Edge, the motion made more awkward by his injury and two-handed grip, but still driven by Zevran's fast self-preservation instincts. He let out a pained hiss as the clash of blades drove a spike of agony into his shoulder.

"Much as I would love a rematch, my dear, is now truly the best time?" Zevran parried a second lunge with a grunt and jumped back into the cell, the point of his sword weaving silent threat and warning both as Ciela paused her attack at the very threshold of her old prison. She turned her head slightly, amethyst eyes never leaving amber, face contorted into a feral snarl, but her words were directed to Xai as the human regained his feet behind her. Xai with his bare chest and exposed lyrium brand.

"Will you help me kill him?" she demanded.

Xai braced himself against the wall with one hand, quirked a brow and gave Zevran a half-smile over the shorter woman's shoulder. "Why would I do that?"

"You're a thrall, like me. If he knew _your _words, wouldn't you want to cut him to pieces?"

"Several times over," Xai agreed, his cheerful tone belied by a darkness in his gaze that only Zevran was in a position to see. "But he only knows a few, and he promises never to use them again…don't you, Zevran?"

"If it means we can get out of here before we are discovered, then so be it," Zevran said impatiently, hiding his unease. "Ciela Tabris, I will not use your words against you ever again without your leave. This I swear."

Xai's laughter was as black as his eyes. "And if he breaks that vow," he said, bending close to one of Ciela's pointed ears, "I'll help you cut him to pieces. I so swear." The former master turned away abruptly, and his next words were flat-toned statements. Purely professional. "Clean yourselves up; we won't get far looking like we walked out of a slaughterhouse. I'll get the robes." With that, he vanished up the passage.

That left Ciela facing Zevran. She was still glaring at him. "Keep your distance or I will sodding gut you," she snarled. Backing away from the cell, she indicated a washstand in the corner of the room with a jerk of Xai's sword and added, "There's a basin of water there and some clean washing cloths. Bring them out here."

Zevran sheathed his blade left-handed and did as she asked, moving carefully to look less threatening. This wasn't how he'd expected things to go with Shianni's beautiful cousin. He thought quickly on how best to if not win her over then at least dispel her ire, and said, "The command I spoke was to set you free, Ciela. I regret if it was not a method you look kindly on, but I could think of no other." He set the metal basin on the floor in the doorway, soaked one cloth in the water for his own use and left the other for her before backing away slowly. "Is an apology in order?"

She grabbed the other cloth, watching him warily in between wiping at her face. "Just get me out of here," she muttered. "Why are you trying to rescue blood slaves, anyway? Stealing us for some other mage?"

"Stealing you for—? Ah." Zevran hummed to himself as he removed enough of his armour to tend his injury. This wasn't easy with one arm that wasn't willing to be raised more than halfway. "Of course, you don't recognise me. It is this black hair dye, yes? And my tattoos are covered up. If you will recall, my dear, you bested me in combat within the library some days ago." He grinned. "I was at your complete mercy, yes? You threatened to…ah…relieve me of my weapons. Quite painfully."

"You're the…escaped slave? The assassin?" She looked more closely at him, examining his features and eyes, and nodded a little. "I should have remembered from the way you said my name. Here and back home it's just _see-ella. _You say it funny."

"_See-_eh_-llla?_" he replied, stressing the 'eh' and rolling the '_l' _with deliberate exaggeration, then smiling inwardly when the corners of her lips twitched involuntarily. "It is like the Antivan endearment '_cielo'_, which means—"

"'Darling'. I know. My mum told me." She stared down at the bloodied washcloth in her hands. "You mentioned my cousins…"

"Shianni and Soris. He is in Denerim, she is here in Minrathous waiting with horses we can use to escape. You will see her soon, never fear."

He saw her swallow then, noted the distrust and desperate hope warring in her marvellous eyes. "My dad…" she whispered.

"Cyrion, yes? He is safe, my dear. Already on a boat out of the Imperium with the other elves."

She hid her face behind the washcloth and rubbed vigorously, not replying.

Zevran tossed his cuirass and torn shirt on the floor then looked around, left hand mopping away the worst of the blood. "What is this? No mirror?"

"No, sorry." Her voice came muffled and she lowered the cloth, revealing a face both calmer and cleaner than before. "Don't ask me why…probably because we could break them and use the shards to kill ourselves. Or them." Her lips twisted into a humourless smile. "Can't have that. Not without orders."

"Not for some other reason then?" Zevran suggested, remembering Xai talking to his own reflection at the embassy.

She shrugged. "Such as?"

"How should I know?" He chuckled, but his mind presented him with one or two likely options. "That would be why I asked you, my lovely woman."

"Don't call me that. You know my name, so use it."

He grinned. "As you say, _mi ciela._"

Her sharp, calculating stare was only broken when she glanced away up the passage, her sword lifting briefly before relaxing back to the floor.

Xai had returned, his leather armour back in place and robes folded over an arm. The Warden passed Ciela one set, which Zevran recognising as belonging to the first mage he'd drugged and taken the parchment from, then he paused a second as though steeling himself before entering the cell and setting Zevran's robes down.

"How did you find them?" Zevran asked, wiping away more blood and holding himself from flinching at the sting. His ribs were not too badly damaged, but his shoulder was afire.

"Being blood controlled doesn't render one blind, deaf or _stupid_." Xai sounded just a bit on edge as he stripped a sheet from the bed and began to tear it into serviceable lengths, two of which he smeared with a healing poultice. "I saw which passages you used to hide in and strike from. Now turn around. I'll patch you up."

"Oh?" Zevran's instincts sparked several warnings. He very carefully didn't look at his leather armour on the floor, in which he'd tucked away the file that bore Xai's tattoo design, and voiced a chuckle. "Such concern from you is unprecedented, I'm sure."

"If we waited for you to do it yourself with one hand we'd be here forever."

This was, unfortunately, true enough, but Zevran hesitated. If the former master had been fully aware during the blood control spell as he'd implied, then it would not be a huge leap of logic for him to assume that Zevran was now in possession of those papers. Especially if Xai had stripped the mage Zevran had taken them from.

"Your company is always charming, my friend, truly it is, but I would much prefer the lady's attentions…" he trailed off, glancing hopefully at Ciela, and a truly _wicked _grin spread across her face. However, before she could accept the invitation to intimidate him with too-tight bindings and direly whispered threats, Xai snapped, "No. She is cleaning and dressing. We don't have time for your _flirtations._"

Ciela shrugged and disappeared a little way up the passage with the basin. Soon after came the wet slap of her discarding her bloodied clothes.

Zevran heaved a dramatic sigh and positioned himself so that his back was to the other assassin, but his armour and its hidden treasure was in clear view of any sleight-of-hand attempts. His pulse picked up as Xai approached from behind and he tried to guess what tactic the Warden would use should he decide to try and take advantage. Halfway through the bandaging, a quick twist of the injured arm, a blade to the throat? Zevran's left hand brushed the pommel of a belt dagger. Would Xai dare a confrontation in this place?

But nothing came. Xai bound Zevran's shoulder with the swift expertise of a Crow who knew his way around impromptu field dressings, his touch neither rough nor gentle, then wrapped Zevran's ribs with what remained of the linens.

"Do you require assistance dressing yourself?" the human asked when he was done, nodding at Zevran's armour, and his mocking expression made it plain he knew what the answer would be and _why_.

"It is more usual for someone to offer assistance in _removing_ my clothes," Zevran replied casually, stooping to grab his gear and watching as the other man backed away to get his robes in order. "Perhaps next time, hmm?"

Xai said nothing to that, but he dug into his belt pouch for the jar of cosmetic brought along for the purposes of hiding Ciela's brand as the thrall appeared in the doorway once more, her hands holding the hem of her too-long robe off the floor.

"Your tattoo must be concealed," he told her. "Do you want me to do it, or Zevran?"

"You're holding the jar," she said, albeit with considerable reluctance. "How do you know it'll work?"

"I tested it on myself. It will conceal the ink for long enough to do the trick, so long as no one looks too closely," Xai unstoppered the lid and approached her, "but I doubt it will be enough cover if blood magic is used. Close your eye."

She obeyed, Zevran watching surreptitiously as he struggled with his belts and buckles. She flinched noticeably when Xai's fingers hovered near her brand, muscles in her face twisting her expression to something that anticipated pain, but did not otherwise react when he actually touched her.

"You'll do this yourself in future, once we get out of here," Xai said in a terse voice, working quickly.

She held still. "You don't talk like a blood slave about to escape. How are you so well prepared? And…calm?"

"I escaped many years ago. I came back…" he smoothed his thumb carefully across her eyelid. "…to help others escape."

"How nice of you." Zevran saw her single open eye watching Xai closely. "Except no one escapes."

"My apologies. I stand corrected."

"No thrall who's ever tried to escape made it out the front door."

"Really."

"My mast—_Lysander, _told me of one who attempted it, but they had his phylactery so he didn't get far. He died mad, overcome by waking nightmares and dreams that weren't real. Master would talk about it whenever I used to…used to try to..." Her gaze began to wander and her voice went small. "If I run he'll get into my head…can't even sleep without him being there, waiting for me…he can make you see and feel and _believe_ such…_things—_"

Xai grabbed her chin with his free hand, startling her so that she jumped, and he turned her head to one side while effectively forcing her mouth shut. "Stop talking," he ordered. "You're creasing my work."

Zevran, fully armed and robed again, replaced his mage hat and strode quickly from the room to check the main corridor. Seeing it still deserted, he hurried back. "All clear. Are we about ready?"

"Almost." Xai produced a mage cowl and gave Ciela's long hair a dubious look. There were still very obvious patches of blood staining her pale tresses.

Ciela evidently realised what the problem was. "Give me a knife and I'll cut it short."

"I have a leather tie," Zevran offered. "You can bind it—"

Xai produced a dagger before he could finish speaking, and without hesitation or ceremony the elven thrall twisted her hair into a tail and sheared it off above the shoulder with an uneven sawing motion. Zevran winced at the resultant wreckage.

"Or you can just ignore me and look like something has been trying to build a nest on your head," he murmured.

"I'm not ignoring you," Ciela said quietly, looking at the handful of shorn locks. "I just…needed to do that." She turned her palm over, and the fine flaxen strands landed in a puddle of blood. "We can't free anyone else?" she asked quietly, her eyes going to the shimmering door of the abutting cell several feet away.

Xai handed her the cowl and shook his head. "Not today."

She went to the door. "Ashaad? You in there?"

A deep-toned voice grumbled back: "You do ask the most pointless questions, elf. You are wasting time."

"I want you to give a message to the First Enchanter when he gets back."

The broad-shouldered shadow of a qunari appeared behind the purple barrier. "Speak, then."

She took a deep breath. "Tell him the next time I see him, I'm going to cut his manhood off and stick it up his own ass."

"No doubt he will find that amusing."

"So will I, Ashaad, believe me. I'll sodding _laugh _as I do it."

The qunari regarded her gravely. "We shall see." He lifted one of his huge hands, pressing the palm to the field. "_Panahedan._"

Ciela's smaller hand splayed over where his did. Her voice was soft and sad. "Bye."

Zevran averted his gaze from the scene, looking for Xai. The human was still within Ciela's cell, one hand rubbing distractedly at his armour-concealed brand, and he was staring around at the white décor and dead magister with a strangely intense expression…not pale-faced as he had been in the ritual chamber, but as though trying to see something clearly.

"Not getting lost in memories again, are we?" Zevran drawled.

"No..." Xai turned another slow circle. "Simply…acquiring new ones." He went to the threshold, looked Zevran in the eye, then crossed over with a single very deliberate step. "Ready when you are."

"What's the plan?" Ciela asked quietly, coming back.

"Leave any talking to him," Zevran said, indicating the other man. "Keep close to me and do not draw any attention." _Or do not draw any _more _attention_, he thought to himself, appraising her with a quick up-down glance. The robe she wore had been made for a taller human, and a man. The sash around her waist did much to hide how it would otherwise hang upon her more slender frame, but the style was all wrong for a woman.

Xai had apparently been reading his thoughts. Sighing, he said, "If anyone insists upon being curious, I'll say the two of you are lovers whom I caught fraternising in a storage closet. Zevran ruined your robes in his passion and you are borrowing a spare set while I escort you out. It should not be difficult for the two of you to look like a pair of students who got caught in the act."

Zevran grinned at the elven woman. "Sounds like fun, if you ask me. What say you, _mi ciela?_"

She gave him a haughty look of disdain. "_Fun? _You call this fun? You tore my favourite robes, _ser_, and made too much noise by far with your…your childish enthusiasm. You'll be lucky if I let you touch me ever again."

"I assure you, dear lady, my enthusiasm was anything but 'childish'." Zevran lifted his brows at her. "You, however, shriek like an Antivan fishwife."

"Better than howling like an oversexed mabari war hound!"

"Yes, well done," Xai said, clapping sardonically as Zevran laughed and Ciela folded her arms in mock indignation. "Your audience of one is duly impressed." He shouldered his way between them and past, heading for the main corridor. "Now let's get moving, _apprentices_."


	19. Through Other Eyes

_Author's Note: Thanks guys :) Once again, sorry these updates have been so slow :/_

* * *

Shayle puffed up haughtily, drawing herself to her full and impressive dwarven height, and stared the mage down. Figuratively speaking. "Were I still a golem," she declared, "I would reduce it to pulp for that statement."

"Oh, be _reasonable_, Shayle," the mage protested. "You purchased a slave here a week or so ago, didn't you? You can't keep lambasting the evils of slavery when you yourself are dabbling in it."

"This is different," the former golem said firmly. "Humans, elves, dwarves and qunari die a squishy mortal death before too many years have passed. These juggernauts, who possess the souls of dwarves, have been tools of the Imperium since the first Blight!"

"And they have never complained!" the second mage pointed out.

"What good would that do? Are the feather-headed mages implying it would release a golem if it simply _asked_?"

"I'm implying that you're arguing on the behalf of creatures who don't seem to care about being free, my lady." The first mage gave a little laugh. "What would a free golem do?"

"Whatever it liked." Shayle folded her arms. "Though in their cases I would start by crushing a few-"

"Excuse me. Lady Cadash?"

Shayle turned, radiating irritation. "What does it want?"

A magister with a long tail of black hair and green robes stood there, one of the senior enchanters, she recalled. He was the one who'd been trying to buy Zevran back from her, and as such she'd mentally given him the title of 'haggling mage'.

"I am Magister Ezio, if you recall," the man said with a polite inclination of his head. "I passed by your estate this morning."

Shayle ignored the invitation to use his name. "I assume the haggling mage wished to discuss my elf again?"

"I don't suppose you brought the slave with you this fine day, my lady?"

"I came alone," she replied, and even to her ears the response sounded a little _too_ swift. "It was irritating me," she added. "There are only so many offers for tending to my physical needs that I can stand."

"He is at your estate then?"

"Obviously. Where else would I have left it?"

"Well," Ezio sighed. "I do hope you secured him. He has proven a slippery one, to my eternal regret. With your leave, Lady Cadash?"

"It still wishes to purchase the elf," Shayle stated as the mage bowed and began to turn away into the tower. She wasn't quite sure why, but she suddenly had a very strong desire to keep the magister from proceeding upstairs. His visits to her estate since she'd 'purchased' Zevran had been numerous, and while he had candidly admitted he didn't have the funds to equal the price she'd paid, he had nonetheless sought to engage her in conversation on what she _did_ want.

"Indeed I do," Ezio agreed. "But it can wait another day. I have business to attend now."

"_Why_ does it want to purchase the elf?" Shayle pressed, trying not to sound desperate.

"I told you already, my lady," the mage replied with an inquisitive quirk of one brow. "Strong blood."

"But-"

"I really must be going. Perhaps we can speak again tomorrow, say noon-ish? I'll bring some wine." He nodded pleasantly and swept away with a rustle of robes.

She began to follow, another protest on her lips, but stopped short when she saw Ezio hail another mage heading for the stairs—none other than Magistra Phaedra, the woman whom Shayle had prevented from popping Zevran like a grape. The two of them heading upstairs together where the two former assassins were skulking about probably wasn't a good thing, unless one happened to be looking forward to bloodshed and mayhem.

Shayle closed her mouth, pursed her lips, thought to herself a moment, then turned her attention back to the mage-guards she'd been speaking with before Ezio had butted in.

"Skulls!" she said brightly.

They blinked at her. "Excuse me?" said one.

"Were I one of its juggernaut slaves, if my control rod suddenly stopped working I would want to start my new life of freedom by crushing the skulls of my former masters. I killed _my _former master. With relish, I expect. Did I tell them that story?"

"This is supposed to encourage us to let them go?"

Shayle gave them both a broad grin. "Don't say I didn't warn them."

* * *

"_Avanna, _Magistra," Ezio said politely.

Phaedra gave her fellow mage a look of annoyance that was barely civil. "Ezio. Can't this wait? I have a rare book to loan out and study to attend."

Ezio smiled and reached into the broad sash circling his waist, pulling a vial from the thin leather loops affixed within the cloth. "Sister, your study can wait. I have news that may interest you. We have an intruder in the Circle Tower."

"I trust this intruder is important enough to warrant you bothering _me_ with it and not the guards," she said impatiently.

"It's the elf who killed your…favourite thrall."

_Your…lover._

Phaedra's expression changed, if only a little, but remained haughty and disdainful. No one would ever say it aloud. In truth, no one truly cared. Magisters could do what they pleased with their slaves. Using them for sex was tawdry in Ezio's opinion but not at all rare, and if one wished to form emotional attachments that was their concern (why not, after all? If one could become fond of a comfortable chair, a set of robes or a jewelled wand, a slave was just as plausible). Phaedra's case was unusual, however. She hadn't trained her thralls, she'd inherited them when her master had died, and by all accounts she'd been lax with keeping up any sort of disciplinary conditioning. She brought her slaves out when required by the tower for rituals and other matters deemed necessary, but otherwise spent her time _associating_ with her possessions rather than commanding their obedience. Of course, she claimed her methods were merely a different form of training. She said she believed a slave that loved its master and felt treasured in return performed more satisfactorily than one who had been taught to fear pain. She encouraged them to have no _desire _to leave her service.

Trust a woman to come up with something like that.

He held up a small glass vial, half-filled with blood taken from Zevran before he'd been turned over to the tower for processing. It was a temporary receptacle only, crude, taken for analysis rather than any belief it would be needed prior to processing, and legally he should have surrendered or destroyed it once the slave's ownership had changed. Happily, Shayle Cadash had never thought to ask if the phylactery existed; her woeful understanding of the slave-trade was surpassed only by her lack of social grace.

"The slave's phylactery," Ezio said succinctly. "The dwarf who purchased him informed me she came here unattended and left the slave at her estate, yet the slave's blood says he is here. Upstairs."

"Why would he return?" Phaedra asked, her brow furrowing.

"On Cadash's orders, is all I can assume. Why she insisted on buying the elf is a source of mystery to me." Ezio shrugged lightly. "But in truth I know not. With your assistance we could capture him and learn the answer." Then he coughed a bit, in a pointed way. "There is also the matter that…you owe me, Sister. The slave was mine and not yours to sell, no matter your frustrations. Lyrium is a fine commodity but blood is what I need for my research. Strong blood in the Imperium is becoming increasingly rare…to have a promising slave fall into my lap only to see it be given away—"

"I did not _give—" _Phaedra shot him a glare. The sum of lyrium she'd secured had indeed been princely, but it was true that the substance was so much dirt compared to the potential of a thrall. The flow of life-force pumped by a determined heart could achieve so much more than the Waters of the Fade. Ezio knew Phaedra was aware of this, but a part of him was intrigued to learn if she had honestly sold the slave for wealth, pique, or a conscious decision to spare him becoming a thrall.

First Enchanter Lysander was always interested to hear of the magisters' doings when he returned from duties abroad, and he would return very soon.

Phaedra nodded grudgingly. "Very well . If the slave is in the tower as you say, his previous actions are evidence enough he could be a threat. If his mistress has forsworn knowledge of his presence, his life is forfeit as it would be for any runaway slave. How do you wish to proceed, Brother? Our thralls are upstairs, our quarry between us and them, and useless to us while caged."

Ezio palmed the phylactery, sliding the glass along a blue vein. "He's on the move. We can use the blood slaves from the lower cages."

* * *

Her brands were stinging. They always did after the initial head-rush.

It hurt when blood was pressed to the lyrium and mana was deliberately transferred into the swirling blue sigils, hurt and put one on a brief, terrifying high, but it was different when a mage was killed. Energy was discharged from a corpse with about as much grace as a hanged man emptied his bowels, and she'd copped three loads. She could feel the pressure of it in the tattoo over her heart, like a flask filled near to bursting. Thralls could only store so much. Even though she had been told her capacity was greater than most, every vessel had its shattering point. The third mage had probably been a bad idea, but she didn't care. It had been too intoxicating to see _them _helpless for a change, and for _her _to be the one with the power.

She'd kill them all if she could.

Too bad the stored mana was no use to a mundane mind. Unless a mage drew upon her or she was ordered to transfer the energy into another thrall, it would slowly and harmlessly dissipate by itself over time. She had no way to channel it into a weapon, means of escape or _anything_, and as far as she knew no blood slave ever had. Batteries ironically had no power…that sort of thing belonged to the hand that wielded them.

"Would you mind taking some advice, _mi ciela_?" the elf walking at her side murmured quietly.

"And that would be?" she muttered back.

"Stop glaring at every mage we pass. They are starting to notice and wonder what terrible crimes they have committed." He paused. "Plus, it is a truly unflattering expression for you."

She punched his arm. Unfortunately it was the right one, which was injured, and the colour instantly drained from his face.

"Ah…" Zevran whispered, strained. "Such a delicate touch from one so fair. I am…I am in shock from the pleasure of it."

Ciela chose not to apologise. It was a novelty, really. Had she struck a mage she'd be on the floor grovelling and babbling for mercy, which she may or may not receive depending on how convincingly she squirmed. In the beginning she'd refused to play such games and held back every scream. She'd been proud and defiant. Vaughan hadn't broken her spirit, and no powdered, primping, dress-wearing mages were going to manage it either.

But they had…eventually. Even now the thoughts and _beliefs _that had been fed to her through blood dreams were balking at her presumption that she could escape. She knew—she _knew _that trying would mean punishment, horrible punishment. Better to stay. Better to return to her cell like a good slave. Better to not give Lysander any reason to be angry—

Zevran quickly slid around behind her to stand on her right side, and gripped her arm loosely with his left hand. "Your glaring was better," he said wryly, picking up their pace a bit. They had lagged behind the human. "Now you look as though _you _are the one expecting judgement."

"I'm not afraid of them," she hissed under her breath, a _lie, _and tried to shake him off. He let go.

"Perhaps you could look like it then, yes? Not afraid and not incredibly angry?"

"You're just full of useful advice, aren't you?" Magely heads turned at her louder-than-intended retort. Eyes stared at her. So many eyes… Ciela began to falter beneath their scrutiny and the black terror of impending discovery, but then the elf's hand was on her arm again and guiding her ahead. She felt so pathetically grateful for the intervention she wanted to stab him in the face.

"As you say." The voice beside her was quiet again, and neutral. "I shall keep my opinions to myself from now on."

_Your opinions mean nothing,_ she wanted to snap, but she couldn't say it any more than she could bring herself to pull her arm from his grasp. As much as she loathed allowing him to touch her, especially considering his knowledge of her commands and the power that gave him over her, she knew with dread certainty that if he let go she'd freeze, fall back or even flee. It was easier to be angry. Hate for these monsters that knew what happened to the slaves below and the ones above, fury that these mages were aware yet did _nothing, _these were the only emotions strong enough to counter her fear.

_How is the shem so calm? How many years did it take him?_

Ciela found her attention fixed on the other thrall after that thought surfaced, and then more questions followed…dozens of them. Questions he _had_ to have answers for. She was so absorbed by the possibilities she almost didn't notice when Zevran's left hand began to shake where it held the crook of her arm.

"What is wrong with you?" she hissed.

"What are you talking ab—?" The elf cut himself off suddenly with a sucked in breath and released her arm to tug lightly at the robes of the human striding ahead of them. "Magisters ahead," he warned when the thrall glanced back. "Emerald green robes. Ezio. He could recognise either one of us. The woman beside him is Phaedra." Then he withdrew his hand slowly, staring at how the fingers trembled. "What is this?" he said in a nervous undertone. "Magic?"

The human's eyes narrowed and he quickly looked towards the magisters, no more than twenty feet away with four crimson-robed slaves flanking them and drawing nearer. Ciela's gaze followed his, instinctively seeking a glimpse of what she knew he was searching for… _There_…the slick shininess of a glass vial, the crimson of blood, being slipped into a wide sash.

"Phylactery," she whispered, like one would utter a curse word.

"Hang back," the shem ordered Zevran, speaking soft and urgent. "Don't let them get within five feet of you. Catch up when I signal."

Ciela glanced between them, noting instantly that the elf didn't like what he was hearing at _all. _His attitude didn't seem to be directed at the mages who held his blood either, but the human. The practicality of not getting caught and the immediacy of their peril won out against demanding explanations, however, and Zevran stepped back with no more communication than an eloquent glower of suspicion before turning back the way they'd come, sidling past some apprentices on the way.

The human watched Zevran's departure for a heartbeat before inhaling deeply, bracingly, and motioning her to come with him. "What will you do?" she asked, falling in on his right. They were set on a path that would take him straight past the left flank of the magisters' little group.

"What do you think I'll do?"

"We could…leave him," she said in a small voice. She felt sick at what she was proposing but couldn't seem to help herself.

A single brow lifted. "You don't think that a little contemptible considering he, not I, was the one to set you free?"

_Fifteen feet…_

"How free is that?" she pointed out, uncomfortable. "He _knows_. Let the mages take him. We don't need him."

"Don't we?" Both brows were up now, joined by a tiny smile. "How many times so far has he stopped you running back to your cage or curling into a ball in the middle of the hallway?"

_Ten feet…_

Shame burned. "But…you could do that. You know the way out. _You _don't need him."

The human's smile became self-mocking. "What makes you think that?"

"Because you're not afraid."

_Five feet…Magistra Phaedra gave Ciela's attire an odd glance before sweeping her gaze elsewhere…_

The human flexed his right hand carefully by his side, stretching each finger, and when Ciela glanced down she saw the former thrall's hand wasn't completely steady. Fine tremors shook it; he made a fist, relaxed, repeated, smirked at her as they walked directly by the magisters and their blood slave escort.

"I'm working on that."

He side-stepped into Ezio's wake, one hand sending a small and shining item skittering across the floor beneath the feet of the mages and up the passage where it began to emit a beautifully tinkling tune, the other hand reaching for his prize in the magister's sash as eyes from all sides of the corridor followed the lure's sparkling, musical path.

* * *

"You!" The magistra pointed imperiously. "Fetch that item."

The elven slave Kamator bowed and went to obey. He had to pick his way carefully between the mages and apprentices who had stopped to peer, intrigued or captivated, but he had once been a professional thief and knew what a few glamour charms could achieve if a rogue wanted a nice distraction. The trick against such a lure was to concentrate on something else-_anything_ else, and not let the charm's humming suck you in. He did this now, fixing an old Rivaini chant in his mind before claiming the crystal-like trap and bearing it to his masters.

"What is it?" Phaedra demanded as Ezio looked about, studying faces. The second mage must have come to some conclusion about the lure, for he had raised both a shimmering arcane shield and the hazy red film of a blood sphere about his person; two of the other slaves were sagging visibly as they were being drawn upon to fuel the latter.

"A kind of trap rogues use as a distraction, mistress," Kamator said. "Of itself, it's not harmful."

"How do you shut it up?"

Kamator wrapped the offending object in the sleeve of his robe. As soon as it was fully enclosed by the fabric, the tune went silent. "If the magistra wishes, I can take it downstairs to be destroyed," he offered humbly. "Melting is more effective than breaking."

Ezio suddenly put a hand to his sash, a look of shock on his face. Kamator and the other slaves made sure not to ogle the display after initial glances had been made, and tried to look as inoffensive as possible as the magister cursed aloud and patted his clothes, then scoured the floor at his feet with his eyes.

"What is it?" Phaedra asked.

"_Zevran_. The phylactery is gone!"

"Impossible. If he'd gotten that close you'd have felt it instantl—"

"It is gone, I say!" Ezio's glare fell upon the slaves, who flinched to a man. "One of you…one of _you…_"

Kamator kept his head down and his shoulders hunched as the magister's eyes speared them in turn, aware of other mages in the passage giving them a wider berth than before. Several, he realised with a sinking feeling, had stopped to watch like students at a particularly interesting lecture, and that was bad. Ezio was well-known for taking exception when he felt he'd been slighted, and his 'lessons' frequently toed the line of pure exhibitionism.

"Brother," Phaedra was saying in warning tones, "if the elf is here then you can't afford to waste your attentions on mere blood slaves."

When Ezio subsided, composing himself, Kamator released a quiet breath of thanks an instant before eyes and ears were caught by a second skittering and shiny item. A careless kick by some student propelled it across the floor, sending it rolling against one of his sandaled feet. He bent to retrieve it and was struck aside by Ezio's staff. Stumbling away, avoiding the urge to cup a hand to the welt forming on one side of his face, Kamator watched covertly as the magister picked up the remains of the vial. It was the missing phylactery, of course—or the top half of it with its inscribed stopper. The glass had splintered and broken off halfway down, taking whatever blood it had carried with it.

"I'm going upstairs," the magister said coldly. He looked one step away from anger. "Hopefully Alcandre did her job before she was killed and had a blood sample stored in the vault."

"I will go with you." Phaedra snagged a passing apprentice. "Take this slave," she indicated Kamator, "see to it he is returned to the first slave block downstairs, and the item he carries is destroyed. And make sure someone heals his face, Marinus!" she ordered, and swept quickly after the departing Ezio with the three other slaves following.

"But I have a class to…y-yes, Magistra Phaedra…"

Kamator exhaled a second time, relieved he wouldn't be going anywhere near the thrall level, and walked obediently beside his new, if temporary master, a young human with blue eyes. He stayed quiet, pondering that name: Zevran. The Antivan he'd set loose a week or two back?

A pleasant, masculine and above all _familiar_ voice on the other side of the mage suddenly said, in Common, "I heard you have class, my good friend Marinus? I happen to be heading downstairs. I could take this slave off your hands, if you wish."

"_Yes_, thank you—uh…" the apprentice blinked at Zevran and assumed that polite expression people sometimes did when faced with someone who seemed to know them, but whom they couldn't remember the name of and were too embarrassed to ask. "Thank you," he repeated. "First cell block, destroy that thing he has in his hand, get someone to heal his face. I owe you!" He hurried off.

"Are you _trying _to get me killed now?" Kamator muttered after taking in Zevran's disguise. Spirits and demons, had no one told him what the penalty was for a mundane impersonating a mage?

"My friend, if you want to be passed off to another for delivery to your prison, you have only to ask." The Antivan glanced at him sidelong; Kamator said nothing. "You did not have to assist me that day, and…after going upstairs I have only just begun to understand the fate I was spared. If simple gratitude is all you will accept then you have it, but I wished to offer you a second chance of a way out. As you can plainly see, I am better prepared this time."

* * *

The scene was bloody. Phaedra had witnessed many horrific scenes in her time, most on the seventh floor, but this felt like the worst. It couldn't be called butchery, as there was art to how a meat-cutter wielded his blade. This was closer to psychotic murder. She passed by the almost unrecognisable remains of the jailer's second and the headless corpse of the jailer himself, lifting the hem of her robes fastidiously above the pools of blood and avoiding the stained carpet; it was so thoroughly soaked that the one time she'd stepped on it there had been a most unpleasant squishing sound.

"Ezio!" she shouted back out into the hall. "Here!"

She continued on to the last cell, which she could see was unsealed, and beheld the body of Carolos, ward of First Enchanter Lysander, with a feeling of deep satisfaction.

_Killed by your own blood-letting blade. Serves you right. You reap what you sow._

"Where are you?" Ezio called.

"Here! Looks like one of the First Enchanter's thralls is on the loose. Do you know who was in this cell?"

The magister joined her and glanced in, and his face didn't show any regret or sympathy either. Ezio didn't think much of those who made love to slaves; Phaedra despised those who took pleasure in hurting them. Blood magic was a sophisticated tool, not some crude cudgel to be wielded like a barbarian.

"This cell held Ciela Tabris of Denerim City and Ferelden." Ezio tilted his head to one side. "Curious."

"What's curious?"

"Before I purchased him, Zevran accompanied the Fereldan diplomats who bought back all those elves. As part of our deal, I provided a list of the slaves we possessed who originated from Denerim, including this one, which of course I noted as being dead." He frowned thoughtfully. "I found another of the jailer's assistants, by the way. First passage on the right from the stairs down and alive, but I couldn't wake him. He is drugged with d_urgenera _by the smell of it_. _And his robe and hat had been stolen."

_A female elf in a human man's clothing… _

Phaedra blinked. Ezio didn't notice.

"Forget the vault," he said at last. "Three mages are dead, their blood shed, the trail still fresh. I'll possess one of my thralls to find him."

"Dream walking and blood possession is a dangerous task alone—and I'm not having a part in it. I've already lost one thrall to that elf, I won't sacrifice another."

Ezio sneered faintly and turned away, probably to hide his contempt. Phaedra followed him up the passage to the cell besides which two of the corpses were slumped.

"I don't need assistance," the magister said coldly, "but if you have any desire to see a mage-killer brought to justice, perhaps you could return to the ground floor and observe our friend Lady Cadash." He dropped the field of his cell pointing at the red-headed elf within who had already prostrated himself, and the slave instantly keeled over to one side on the white snow leopard rug, fast asleep. Ezio stepped inside and clenched his fingernails into his own palm to draw blood.

Phaedra winced at the sight. Most blood mages used small blades, but a few eschewed mundane tools and filed their own nails to points. When Ezio did not immediately begin his spells but crouched to lift the thrall's head, Phaedra said, "You're not thinking off—"

Ezio pressed his bleeding palm to the brand crawling down the thrall's throat, and both men flinched once, twice, three times, as rhythmically as a heartbeat.

"That's going too far."

"It will work."

"It's barely been tested!"

"I will only channel if it seems necessary." Ezio lowered the thrall's head and crossing to the large bed. He made himself comfortable atop the covers and crossed his hands over his heart. "Sister, if you wouldn't mind…?"

She made a disapproving flipping gesture and the magister didn't try to resist the spell. He, too, fell asleep. Only a few seconds later the thrall's brands began to glow. He sat up and opened his eyes, which shone white.

"You're not going to bother going upstairs to get armour or weapons, are you," Phaedra said, scowling.

He shook his head, stood and walked from the cell. Barefoot, clad in a thin white shift that clearly revealed the glowing brand over his heart, and blood still on his neck. What a sight. The thrall turned after passing the threshold and lifted both hands, and for just a moment there was a bloody tinge to his brands and eyes as the field was erected via the stored mana. Ezio was sealed within, his physical body safe from any intruders.

"You're going to get yourself and your thrall killed."

The red-haired elf shook his head a second time, paused to look down at the two dead mages in the passage like a hound picking up a scent, then headed out into the main hall at a run.


	20. Brothers in Chains

_I was Dafen, 'Wolf Cub' in the language of my people. I was a hunter in a clan that one day ran afoul of Imperial soldiers. They fell upon the aravel and slaughtered the halla. Our Keeper and his First brought down many with their arts, the rest of us fought with bow, blade and axe, until the dark magisters began to work their perverted craft and all turned to ruin. Trees twisted to life at our Keeper's commands were burned and destroyed by demons summoned by our foes, and that was only the beginning. The mages seized control of our flesh. Brother turned against brother, sister against sister, bonded slew one another then were borne down by their own children._

_We killed many…of them, of our own…but the magisters were too well protected and their blood magic too potent._

_We who survived, those who did not manage to flee, were carried to different destinations but ultimately the same fate: slavery. I don't know what has become of the rest of my clan, but I am no longer one of them. How could I be? My submission has become too complete, too a part of what I am, for me to be elvhen. I will never know freedom from the chains placed in my mind…even when I sleep I can feel the fetters._

_As I feel them now._

_I dream of the hunt. I dream of a forest like no other. I dream that one of the Creators runs by my side, in my shadow, in my heart…_

…_under the sun and the star, the leaves and the shade…_

* * *

"The magisters," Zevran said once he, Xai, Ciela and Kamator had reached the relative safety of Airlia's lodgings on the fourth floor, "I overheard them say they were going to some vault upstairs for another phylactery. How many of them do these people make?"

Xai retrieved the woman's robe and shoes they had smuggled in for Ciela, the measurements for them having been dictated by her cousin, and handed them to her. "For a full thrall, I think three; one for his master, one for the Circle vault, and one for the Argent Spire. They didn't have you for long so you might not have to worry, but we'll have to move quickly all the same. They'll know something is wrong when they reach the sixth floor and see no one on guard, and if they realise Ciela is missing they might simply go for _her _phylactery. Who's this?" He nodded at Kamator, dark eyes appraising the swirling Rivaini tattoos.

"Someone who's wondering what he's gotten himself into," the slave muttered. "Kamator. Yours, I believe." He tossed the lure to Xai, who snatched the glittering humming thing from the air before glancing at Zevran.

"The one who assisted your escape from the tower?"

"In the flesh," Zevran confirmed. "I have offered him a way out since that is where we ourselves are headed, no?"

"By 'way out', do you mean 'early grave?" Kamator jerked his chin towards Ciela, who had turned her back to the men and was stripping right there in the same room. "A few words and she'll turn on all of us. She's a thrall."

"Not any more," the elven woman said without glancing back. She shrugged the new robe on, which Zevran couldn't help noticing was a rather flattering midnight blue. "And never again."

Kamator shook his head. "There are chains and whips in your mind that won't go away with a little defiance, woman."

"The glowing eyes," Zevran said suddenly, remembering, and shared a quick glance with Xai. "They were controlling you from a distance, yes? Can they do that while you are with us?"

Ciela wrapped the cloth-of-gold sash about her waist, working quickly. "I have to be asleep. I'm not positive how it works, but I was always made to fall asleep whenever they used me like that."

"What's the range?"

"I don't know."

"Can you resist it?" Xai asked.

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug and she looked over at him. "I'll have to work on that, won't I?"

The human's head tilted slightly to one side as he returned her gaze, and something like a smile…speculative? …approving? curved his lips.

Ciela's attention shifted to Zevran then, almost reluctantly, as though ashamed. "I'll have to work on a few things," she added, and crouched to put her shoes on.

Zevran frowned to himself, wondering if he had somehow earned some sort of obscure apology, but let it lie for now and turned to Kamator in his bright red, gold emblazoned robe. "I am thinking you will need no disguise, my friend."

The Rivaini elf shook his head. "Better credibility for you having a slave tag along," he noted dryly.

"We don't have the right shade of pigment to hide your ink anyway," Xai said. He tugged a sheathed blade from within his robe and tossed it. "Can you use a dagger?"

Kamator caught it easily. "If I have to." The elf's eyes flicked briefly to the pommel of the weapon, possibly searching for a distinguishing mark that would reveal something of Xai and Zevran's origins and purpose, but the former Crows had been careful—none of their weapons or armour bore the devices of their previous guild, nor of the Wardens.

"Ready," Ciela said. "Do I get one of those?"

Zevran produced a plain blade of his own and held it out in silent offering, left-handed.

She took it and slid it into her sash. Her head dipped in a brief but uncomfortable nod. "Thanks."

He gave her a grin in return. "Not at all, _mi ciela_."

"Keep up and keep together," Xai told them all. "Look like we're in a hurry to get somewhere. We're going straight downstairs and out the front door. Zevran, your arm?"

Zevran held up his left hand and wiggled the fingers. "This one works, yes?" He grinned humourlessly. "So long as no one bumps the other one I won't feel like emptying the contents of my stomach across the floor. I can keep up, have no fear."

It was as close as he was willing to get to an admission he was in a considerable amount of pain, and the former master knew it. The healing poultice Xai had slapped onto the bandages would reduce the swelling and bleeding, but it was a quick solution only, a patch job. Proper attention to his injury would have to wait until they had the tools and time, and that wasn't now. He would simply have to endure.

Kamator opened the door for them like a slave would his masters and proceeded outside with Ciela. Xai was on their heels when Zevran grabbed lightly at his robed shoulder.

"Wait. I wish to speak. What happened upstairs—"

Xai's expression turned to one of acute irritation. "We have no time for this, Arainai."

Zevran locked eyes with the other Crow, knowing he was correct. "Then you will explain later, my friend. Yes?"

He looked indifferent. "As you say."

The human turned his back and stepped out into the passage and Zevran followed, wondering to himself. He had fully expected to be abandoned. Crows did not abide by philosophies such as 'leave no man behind', the task was to get the job done and get yourself out alive. Stopping to assist a companion who'd gotten into trouble wasn't a good survival trait, and was doubly frowned upon if it jeopardised the mission objective—in this case, getting Ciela Tabris out. Neither he nor Xai were Crows anymore, this was true, and the Grey Wardens both of them had spent much of their recent lives with did things quite differently, but still. This was Xai Merras, no? He wouldn't stick his neck out for Zevran for no reason.

He hadn't even _gloated _about it.

* * *

_I was Dafen, 'Wolf Cub' in the language of my people. I was a hunter of the Dalish..._

_I am running through the trees, speeding over patches of sunlight and drifts of leaves. It is no natural forest but a dreamscape, the perfect hunting ground, no dense undergrowth to trip me up and the trail of blood fresh, so fresh_ _I can smell it, almost taste it when I breathe. I don't have to pause to look for trail signs, I just have to follow and so I do. And it feels good, almost…real. How long has it been since I ran in the waking world? I want to laugh with exhilaration and maybe I do, somewhere, but I hear it only in my mind…a sense of joy so sweet and thought forever lost I suddenly wish to weep that I may never feel it again, for when I wake I will be in _that place _once more, with stone all around me and no sun, no wind, no open forest. Just a shemlen prison. If I could stay here and never wake again, I would._

_I keep running. There is a bow in my hand and a quiver across my back. Dalish leather wraps me in a familiar embrace, and all about in the gold-dappled trees I can see my people, elves who smile and shout greetings as I race by on my mission. I cannot stop for them; I want to keep running while I still have the scent. The dream tugs at me, insistent._

_And then I see my prey._

* * *

Second floor.

The museum and magical items repository. Here people could buy, sell, trade, have objects appraised or enchanted, and it was thronged with mages and mundanes alike. Looking around, Zevran decided that if he regretted anything about this trip to Tevinter, it was missing out on a chance to browse the treasures this level held. On the way through with Xai earlier he had caught glimpses of majestically tooled leathers, wondrous swords and daggers, rings and amulets of gold, silver and other precious metals, some with precious stones and others wrought into intricate shapes. It was a trove he would have adored to spend some time admiring, maybe even purchase something from, but alas, business trips did not allow for luxuries like shopping.

He sighed a little, wistful at the lost opportunity, then noticed Ciela glancing furtively at some of the displays as she hurried to keep up with Xai. "Looking for something?"

"Wha—? Oh." She lowered her voice. "My boots and dagger. When slaves are brought to the tower anything they have on them is confiscated. I heard that valuable or magical items can end up here, so I hoped…" She faltered, as though realising something. "…but…then…I guess it's not like we could stop to buy anything even if…" She fixed her gaze on the back of Xai's head again. "Forget it. Boots and a dagger aren't worth it."

"I know the allure of a good pair of leather boots, myself," Zevran said conversationally, smiling, but kept his voice low. "Tell me of this magnificent footwear of yours. They were valuable, you said?"

For a moment he thought she wouldn't answer because she shifted her shoulders like the question had made her uncomfortable. But then she said, "My mother made them for me. She'd embroidered vines on them. They probably weren't worth that much really—not enough to be up here with all these…treasures."

Zevran glanced at her profile. "My mother…she made gloves. Leather, naturally, and embroidered like your boots but with Dalish designs. They were stolen from me a long time ago, alas."

She met his eyes and her expression softened a tiny bit. "I'm sorry." She swallowed, cleared her throat, then added in a voice that sounded deliberately lighter, "And I'm…sorry…for…you know…_grabbing_ you in the library. And digging my nails in."

"_Mi ciela_…" Zevran smirked. "I am certain that one day we will look back on that day and laugh that within a half hour of first laying eyes upon one another, you had already straddled me on the floor with one hand up my skirt, 'grabbing', as you so eloquently put it, my _pisello_. Usually it takes me a little longer to have that sort of effect on a beautiful woman."

Her lips twitched as she suppressed another smile. "And I usually don't grope handsome men on the first day of meeting them."

"No?" Pleased by her response, he said, "What about the second day?"

A commotion behind them stopped her from replying. Both elves looked back and Kamator, directly at their rear, also turned. People were pointing and yelling, many moving aside as something approached fast. When a glowing-eyed thrall ran into view, an elven man with red hair to his waist, brands and blood on his throat, and clad only in a white shift, Ciela grabbed at Xai's robe.

"Ezio's followed us! That's Dafen, one of his slaves!"

"All he has to do is call the guards and we're finished," Zevran muttered, turning to confront this new complication. Kamator moved to stand behind them while Ezio's thrall stopped several feet away, looking from face to face as though marking each of them. "So why has he not?"

"He can't," Ciela replied, as quietly as she could while silence descended on the immediate area. "It's hard controlling speech in blood dreams, I don't think they've figured out how yet!"

Xai gave her a single startled look, then his expression snapped to one of angered authority and he stepped towards the thrall, pointing his staff at him. Arcanum began to flow from his lips like a challenge or threat, impassioned and dire. Guards who had begun to converge on the site, both of the mage and weapon-bearing variety, paused at hearing some of the language used and looked uneasy.

"He's bluffing," Kamator muttered, just behind Zevran. "_And_ he's insane. Just like someone else I could name."

* * *

_I was Dafen, 'Wolf Cub' in the language of my people…_

_He who I hunt is not alone as I'd expected him to be. It is a small and mismatched herd I have tracked. I feel caution and a desire to stop running, so I do, the better to examine my quarry._

_The blood-scent clings thickest to the doe; the elaborate carvings in her silver horns are streaked with red. I had wondered if she would be here, and consider it a stroke of luck that I have found her. The Keeper will be pleased to have her back safely. I know in my mind she is confused and must be returned to the clan so she can be calmed and healed. I will be able to reach her mind with little effort, fresh from the run and afraid of her surroundings as she is, but the others might not be so easily dealt with so I will not waste my energies on a soft target._

_There are two elves. The one with the skin, eyes and hair like gold I expected. He is the one I hunt, tattooed like us but not like us. I do not know him, but I know of him through the dream. He is responsible for spooking the halla from her herd. He must have panicked her to those kills. He stands by her now but he watches me. The second elf is flat-eared like my prey, but older and darker. His face I recognise; he has been with the clan for a long time and so I am unsure if he is being held against his will or complicit. I will find out later, but otherwise he is a known quantity and I have no fear of him._

_The final figure is another halla, and when the stag pushes past the others and rears with a challenging bellow I feel astonishment at the sight of him! He is not a pure silvery-white like the first, but grey and scarred, his horns blackened, their carvings pitted and damaged, his body warped with…blight? I have never seen such a thing, but in the dream it makes sense and there is no mistaking that smell of corruption. Another lost guide? How long has he wandered alone and sick? Who was the master of his herd? What happened to him? When did he go astray? I try to see him more clearly through the dream and feel it waver, so I stop lest it shatter around me. I will learn the truth when I calm him._

_He once dwelled with the People; all halla answer the call of Ghilan'nain._

_Elves are coming out of the trees and surrounding us now, anticipating the confrontation, and despite my trepidation I do not wish to back away. I am a hunter of the clans, here to bring a rogue to justice, a kinsman to guidance, and two injured halla to safety. I am armed with my bow and the blessings of the Creators themselves!_

_The blighted stag rears a second time, thrashing the air with his hooves and roaring; around us the watching elves begin to murmur and stare at me, as though it has just accused me of something foul._

_I do not speak. I know it is no use to try. In dreams, words make little sense and I refuse to bleat like a beast. But he is a halla of my clan and in obvious need, I am elvhen with the gods by my side, and I can make him hear me without words. I give him a calming smile and reach out a hand, projecting confidence, peace and promise. I feel the energies within me stir and flare outwards, Ghilan'nain come to my aid!_

_The halla flinches back and snarls, rebuffing the attempt. His horns, though broken, still look sharp and dangerous as he tosses them high in the air. A blackened hoof paws at the leafy trail and I reach out again as he begins a cautious approach, making him hesitate. I call upon Andruil for help, I pour more of myself into the effort and feel the blood pounding in my heart. It _hurts, _I feel warm liquid choke my lungs and cough it up reflexively, I want to stop, and abruptly it does. _

_Through the power of the Creators, I have prevailed. The blighted halla's great head droops. It comes to me, docile and trusting, and I smile reassuringly at him. I will him to sit and he kneels placidly at my feet. I stroke his proud brow, trying to convey that all will be well. We will return to my clan. We will find him a cure, or…and this thought is _not mine_…study his sickness and what benefits it might yield._

_The stag shudders and sags. _

_He will be fine. _

_He knows he has come home._

* * *

Zevran put a steadying hand on Ciela's arm, guessing she was primed to flee but finding instead she was coiled to attack. Xai was on his knees before the smiling elven thrall, whose eyes and lyrium brands were suffused with an unholy red glow and whose bloodied fingers were running through the Grey Warden's short dark hair. The mages in the immediate vicinity were shouting and arguing with one another, or yelling at the thrall. Many were quitting the area entirely. Mundanes watched, agape, or fled clutching their purchases.

"Magic," Ciela was hissing, fingers curling to claws. "See how he bleeds? He's being channelled, Ezio's working blood magic _through _him! Dear _Maker_—"

"Ciela!" Zevran's fingers tightened on her arm. Whatever Xai had been saying in Arcanum, the mages were not looking favourably upon the actions of Ezio's thrall. He needed to keep that advantage and press it before they were all picked off one by one. He needed the guards on his side. "I need you to tell me what is being said! What is going on?"

But the thrall was lifting his hand from Xai's brow—

Zevran stepped quickly in front of Shianni's cousin, glared back into a snarling face locked halfway between horror and hate. "Tell me!" he snapped at her. "NOW!"

* * *

_I was Dafen…_

_The elves are all shouting meaningless sounds at me for subduing the corrupted halla, but it doesn't matter. They know what I am. They have seen the gods are with me. They will not interfere. The doe is my next target, and she will be easier. She has not been long away from the clan, she _wants_ to return but is just too afraid and blood-crazed to listen to her better instincts. I will help her. I lift my hand—_

_The golden elf intercedes. My true prey seeks to thwart me. In the excitement of discovery I had almost forgotten my goal. He stands in front of the doe, listening to her as she lowers her white muzzle to his ear and whispers, then he calls out to the elves around him. They look amongst each other uneasily but say nothing, and this time I am allowed to laugh._

…_allowed…?_

_The dream trembles, blackness looms behind the crowd of elves and twists into monstrous forms, demonic in appearance. I start to feel afraid, but the powers guiding me, that presence I thought belonging to the Creators, expresses contempt for my fear and will not let me wake. The shadows expand and spread like a black flower blooming. Wings unfurl to blot out the sun. Blue flames spew from mighty jaws and chains of lyrium and blood bind me._

_The golden elf shouts more words, nonsense, but he is cowed to silence as I extend my hand towards him, my hand which drips blood drawn by the dragon. Or is it the dragon that terrifies him? It bends over me, a great claw with scales of midnight reaching past my head and shoulder in mimicry of my stance, crimson talons spread to grasp and pierce._

_But then another voice rocks me. The dragon whips around, swift as a serpent, maw gaping, and I turn with him. I behold one he considers an equal, a sister…a rival. Another shadowy dragon, accompanied by a pristine halla. My blighted animal rises to stand beside me, at my master's bidding but through my life blood, and the veil of the dream begins to tear as glimpses of _reality _intrude and _Beyond _collides with it._

* * *

_We are so incredibly doomed._

Zevran tried hard not to show even a flicker of fear, but it was difficult when Ciela's terror was so readily apparent, Kamator was standing to one side with his eyes downcast and his face blank, and Xai, the only one who seemed to have had a hope of bluffing them out of this, was lost to them. His heart hammered with dread as Magistra Phaedra faced Ezio's thrall, flanked by one of her own who was just as underdressed. Phaedra's thrall was not under any blood magic influence; the brands encircling both eyes did not glow.

Zevran's hand began to stray to a concealed weapon. He could kill Ezio's slave, that would liberate Xai, maybe he could even strike Phaedra if his aim was true, but he did not relish the idea of throwing a blade left-handed at such a distance. There were mages aplenty in this room, though. As soon as he revealed himself and struck with steel rather than spell, the lies Xai had woven would come undone. Even so, if Phaedra intended to take them all, Zevran would rather make them pay for him a second time. And with blood, not coin.

"You dare this?" Phaedra demanded of Ezio in the King's Tongue, punctuating her words with small flourishes of her staff. "You have gone mad, brother! Our arts are not to be wielded so, especially not here. This is the Minrathous Circle Tower, not the Braeis Arena or a duelling ground! Release that mage immediately!"

The thrall merely tilted his head, but Xai got to his feet and faced the magistra. Slowly, as though impressing a point, the Warden held out his arms and let his mage staff clatter to the floor. The message was so clear Zevran couldn't see how Phaedra could possibly miss it, but she appeared unconcerned by the gesture. Was she playing along with the ruse, then? To what end?

"I don't understand," Ciela whispered from just behind him, and Kamator said nothing when Zevran shot a glance his way, merely standing passively as a slave should.

"Look at yourself, brother," Phaedra said, nodding at the red-haired thrall. "You bleed him too deep and reach too far. There is no one in your sanctum to lend aid or mana as you falter. If you don't relinquish your spell and your target, you will draw attention and perish."

The thrall flung out a hand to indicate Zevran, Ciela and Kamator, though he continued to glare at Phaedra.

"You are attacking guests of the Circle and foreign dignitaries." Phaedra struck her staff sharply against the floor and there was a soft _fwoomph_ as crimson tongues of flame shot up the carved haft from foot to dragon-carved head. "As a Senior Enchanter of the Minrathous Circle I say again: release him!"

* * *

_I…am…Ezio Enaros, Mage-Lord of the C__endrée_ _Tower, Senior Enchanter of the Minrathous Circle, Master of Blood and Ice and Iron._

_And I am betrayed. _

_My sister speaks truly on one thing alone: I have overextended myself. Had it only been Zevran and the escaped Ciela Tabris I would have succeeded, but I allowed my avarice to attain this other thrall who carries the taint in his blood to get the better of me. He is struggling like a caged beast, throwing himself against the bars locking his mind from his body, and the magic I stored in my elven slave wanes quickly as I tighten my grip, trying to choke the human into submission. My slave is also beginning to stir as the strain of my magic and the unreality of the situation turns dream to nightmare—his mind will crumble if I am not careful._

_In the blood dream, my black wings flare and flames the colour of lyrium drip from my fangs; I am endlessly entertained by the images the slaves ascribe to us, themselves and their prison. It is fascinating to experience. Phaedra's form is just as intimidating as my own, as befits one of her rank and power._

_If I meet her challenge she may strike at me through Dafen. It is a small vulnerability but a significant one that every thrall-lord knows exists, Phaedra better than most. When Zevran killed her slave in the library he almost killed her with the same stroke. Only her apprentices saved her life that day._

_So I bow my head in agreement. I will withdraw, exercise patience, and come at this again from another angle. And as for Phaedra—my fangs grit together in a snarl—she will suffer for this insult. No doubt she intends to seize control of these cattle for herself the moment I am gone._

_I cancel the blood control and feel the relief melt through Dafen's body. Then I call him to return to his cell—his clan, his Keeper, whatever his dreams depict._

_The slave has not taken two paces before the tainted halla attacks him from behind, impaling him through the chest with a single skewering plunge of blight-blackened horns. The momentum of the blow propels slave and halla towards me. Dafen is pinned between beast and dragon, the dying breath of the elf sighing out as the animal's antlers pass completely through his body, pierce my scales, and I rear back—!_

* * *

On the sixth floor in Dafen's white-draped cell, Magister Ezio arched up violently from the bed with a cry of pain and the Fade-sense of twin blades shearing through his body. His wards fractured, his mana drained, the field sealing his room flickered and fizzled and fell, but he _escaped_ and staggered up from the mattress before collapsing to the floor.

_This will not be tolerated!_

His fingers scraped against the stone and his heart laboured. Mana. He needed mana or blood, it didn't matter _which_, he just had to make it to his other thrall and drain what he needed to recover himself, and then_…then_…by the Old Gods he would _hunt them down and rend their minds._

Ezio stumbled to his feet and to the door, using his staff and infuriation to support himself.

As soon as he passed over the threshold and rounded the corner, one of Phaedra's thralls met him coming the other way with a dagger to the throat.

"For my mistress," the elf hissed, jerking the blade free and slamming it home a second time. "For my brothers in chains." And again. "For Shartan, Andraste, and _freedom_."

Blackness.

* * *

_I…was…Dafen. 'Wolf Cub' in the language of my people. _

_The chains placed in my soul…they are rent. My mind shatters with the broken links. My heart pulses between and around the two horns (swords…?) piercing my chest. Dream or reality? It has bled together and I can't say. For every shard of myself that falls from the sky and stone ceiling, I seem to see another place beyond with green leaves and moonlight and music. Is it sanctuary for the dead or simple madness? Either one would be a blessing and release._

_The halla withdraws in a sharp movement that drops me to my knees before its wrath, but pain is a distant thing. I am too distracted by the overlapping images, dream-forest, mage-tower, flashing fragments of Beyond._

_It is to the last that my spirit yearns, desperate to be free before the other dragon can lay a claim to me, and the halla strikes again. My flesh feels the blow land, severing the last link keeping me trapped here, and I am suddenly flying…_

… _soaring into the sky as it breaks and falls around me._


	21. Breaking Points

In the Minrathous Circle Tower there was a growing silence.

The two Imperial Edges ripped from the thrall's body with a sound like wet leather tearing then swooped up, around and down in two powerful overhand arcs as the elf dropped to his knees. The blades landed on either side of their victim's unarmoured neck, metal shearing deep from shoulder to mid-chest. There was no outcry of pain, the slave simply jerked and went limp, his brands and eyes ceasing to glow, his face empty.

Xai Merras released the hilts and took two steps back; the dead elf slumped forwards, his head hanging, until the tips of the blades stopped him from falling any further and metal scraped softly against the floor. Blood poured from the wounds into an expanding crimson pool.

Zevran couldn't see the Warden's face but he could tell just by observing the stance, the rapid breathing, how he was staring down at the dead slave, that the human, the _Crow Master_, had been knocked badly off-balance. Before he could come to a decision on whether he should say or do something, Xai's head lifted and he seemed to notice the surrounding mages for the first time. He retreated a third slow pace, turning a circle as though hunting for an avenue of escape, then froze to complete stillness when his eyes found Zevran's…and stood waiting.

He was pale, though that could have been an after-effect of the blood control spell, and while his expression wasn't exactly showing fear Zevran thought he could pick up a distinctly _cornered _feel, just as he had from Ciela on the floor above.

_Zevran _was the avenue of escape, and Xai knew it. Was counting on it. _Had _been counting on it all along_._

The copper bit finally dropped.

"Say something," Ciela breathed.

Of course…bring him back to himself, as he had perhaps done after that display with the templar upstairs, as he had tried to do for Ciela when walking down the mage-infested corridors…

The eyes of the two men remained locked a whisper of a second longer…

_You need me. Hah, the Grey Warden, the Crow Assassin, the Craftmaster, always so confident and superior in your abilities over the fugitive elf…and what is this, hm? I would wager my boots you saved me upstairs for fear you could not make it out alone. I'd wager my gloves that the reason you gave for not being able to liberate me the first time Ezio took me to the tower was a complete lie…_

…Xai's gaze dropped to the floor.

"_Say something_!"

Hm. Something that would preserve the illusion of authority Xai had claimed while still giving them an excuse not to linger any longer than they had to...and something that would bring him back.

_Ah…but of course._

"Master," Zevran said, in a voice that sounded shockingly loud in the quiet that had descended. But he spoke it confidently, and as easily as if Xai had still been a Crow Master rather than disguised as a Magister.

It had been Xai's idea, after all, that Zevran and Ciela pose as his apprentices.

The effects on Xai were minute but instantaneous. His shoulders twitched back at the word, his posture both straightening and relaxing. When he looked up his expression was one of annoyance, like some thought of immense importance had just been interrupted. His gaze was sharp. "Apprentice?" he replied, coldly.

Zevran's response was smoother than it should have been considering Xai's tone, borderline insolent in fact, but he couldn't help himself. "Master, our enemy's assassin lies dead and we have an appointment to keep, yes? Your colleagues will be waiting."

The human shot him a flat look that Zevran knew, from this man, was as good as a glare, then pointed at Kamator and snapped, "You. Retrieve those swords and clean them." As the Rivaini jumped at once to obey, Xai added to the room at large, "I didn't acquire a pair of enchanted Edges for my thrall to learn the Arvale only to have them sullied by the blood of a coward's slave. That," he continued, indicating the corpse with a jerk of his chin, "can be returned to its owner. With my compliments."

Zevran was aware of Ciela keeping very close to him as the spell of silence broke and the observers began to murmur amongst themselves, several drifting away now that the show was apparently over, but the majority and the guards were casting glances to Magistra Phaedra, who had been tight-lipped since the slaughter of Ezio's thrall. _Her_ thrall kept both eyes on Xai as he stepped around the corpse to retrieve his mage staff, but the magistra had her head cocked to listen to the words of another finely-dressed mage who had gone to her side.

"Is that another magister, _mi ciela_?" he murmured, trying to keep his lips from moving.

"Yes," she replied softly.

Kamator, lacking anything more appropriate it would seem, had unhesitatingly cleaned Xai's swords with his own robe. The blood left darker stains against the red cloth, but in a land where blood magic and rituals were the norm Zevran wondered whether such a thing on a slave's attire would draw more than a passing glance. Xai himself had blood down his front but he didn't bother calling for anything to clean himself up. He took the swords from Kamator when they were presented and, with barely a glance at them, as though it was unimaginable for the slave to have handed back anything but two perfectly spotless blades, returned them to the sheaths beneath his robe.

Phaedra was approaching Xai with a purposeful stride now, her thrall keeping protectively near, her magister associate hurrying away in the direction that led downstairs. "Brother," she began, still in the King's Tongue.

Xai spared her a glance and started towards Zevran and Ciela with the foot of his staff tapping impatiently against the floor. "My thanks for your timely aid, Sister, but I have no time for pleasantries. I am lodging at the Myan Irokh on Poplar Crescent if you require discourse. Good day."

Phaedra's eyes narrowed but she stopped and let him go on. Zevran kept half his attention on her and her thrall as Xai and Kamator reached them, the Rivaini's lips moving in some inaudible prayer for deliverance.

"Let's go," Xai said tersely, looking at neither of them as he brushed past to lead the way, and no one moved to bar their path.

After a moment, when no call came for them to stop, Zevran muttered loudly enough for Xai to hear, "So is it me, or did we just get away with that?"

"It's you."

"Ah. Of course." Zevran risked a quick glance back. Sure enough, Phaedra was conferring with some of the Circle Tower guards. After only a brief word to them, no fewer than seven soldiers and three mages were heading after the retreating group, accompanied by the magistra's thrall. Phaedra herself departed in the opposite direction, heading back into the lofty heights of the tower.

"Well?"

"Seven soldiers, three casters and Phaedra's thrall," Zevran reported quietly. "Keeping their distance, or so it would seem. The magistra did not see fit to follow. I suspect she is going upstairs."

Xai swore under his breath. "What's her game?"

"Ah…" Zevran hesitated. "I spoke too soon, I fear. Some of our spectators are coming along after them…more mages. A fair number of them, in fact."

Xai rubbed a hand over his eyes. "We have to get out of here fast."

"Are you all right?" Ciela asked him. "You're so pale," she explained when he glanced her way, and Zevran hummed to himself. He would have expected the former master to have recovered his colour by now, but then Xai had been blood controlled by no fewer than three mages in under two hours, not to mention bound by that glyph, and they had barely paused to stop for a rest. If what had happened behind them was anything to go by, the damage and stress had to be stacking up behind that splintering mask.

"Not here," was all Xai said.

"Later, yes?" Zevran practically purred, and the human was silent.

* * *

Shayle was beginning to feel uncomfortable fluttery sensations in the pit of her fleshy dwarven stomach. She'd decided it wasn't hunger (although that, too, had been confusing when she'd first felt it), and she kept wanting to look in the direction of the stairs in the hopes of sighting the two assassins. Perhaps this was what they called 'worry'? She hoped it wasn't constipation; that didn't sound nearly as pleasant.

The two golem-keeper mages were still talking, even though she was running out of things to harp about. They seemed more than content to argue the ethics of golem/dwarven slavery with each other as much as with her, which was something of a relief even if the sound of their prattle was driving her to distraction.

"It was a legal transaction made between the Tevinter and Dwarven Empires long ago! The dwarves themselves agreed to it, we have done nothing wrong!"

"Lady Cadash is right though…the dwarves were not forthright with what, exactly, the golems are."

"Does that matter? The dwarves must have known, and I daresay we still would have purchased had they told us. Flesh or stone, slaves are slaves, and the control rods are even more effective than blood magic for keeping them in check."

"Very true. Hah, can you imagine control rods for blood slaves? If someone figured out how to do that they'd make a fortune with the magisters."

"I don't know, I hear some of them enjoy the whole breaking in and training processes. The up close and personal touch. For the quarry gangs though…I can see that being useful. Rods instead of whips."

Shayle's fists itched. Her servitude to Wilhelm had been far from unbearable, no matter how much she liked to complain about it, and she'd heard and seen enough in the Imperium to know her situation had been, except for the chisel incident, pretty good. Indeed, until coming to Tevinter and becoming a dwarf again she hadn't remembered what painfelt like. The first time she'd stubbed her toe or cut a finger she'd been so shocked it had been embarrassing, and _oh_, she carried around a giant hammer and wore armour like a warrior, but the truth was she hadn't been in a scrap since her change, and she _knew _what kinds of injuries meat creatures could sustain. One good cut in the right place and the all the bits inside could just tumble out into a squidgy puddle to be picked at by birds. The very idea was horrifying.

Wait…what had she been thinking about?

Oh, yes. Slaves. Whips. Flesh wounds.

She'd been down to the auction blocks once or twice and seen what those cruelly pronged lashes could do. In fact, her new body had several long stripes scarring its back.

She had decided she didn't like people who liked whips. It was worse than being crapped on, and that wasn't a comparison she made lightly.

"It mentioned 'breaking in'," Shayle interrupted their verbal diarrhoea (that was a term she'd heard back in Ferelden. Once she'd learned what diarrhoea actually was, she'd decided it was a very good term), "but I thought breaking in was what one did to a house or shop. How does one 'break in' a person? Is a hammer applied to its skull?"

"Breaking in refers to the breaking of a slave's will, or spirit, my lady, and the methods vary from person to person," one of the mages replied. "If slaves not born in captivity or familiar with their new role in Tevinter society, they must learn what is expected of them. Many are resistant, especially if they've come from nations where slavery is not practised and they believe freedom is some kind of Maker-given right for all and sundry."

"In most cities the breaking in of slave gangs begins with the psychological," the other explained, "taking away their hope. Physical lessons or executions are carried out if slaves continue to resist, publicly, so the others can see where defiance leads. Slaves that are properly broken in are pliant, agreeable, do what they're told and don't cause trouble."

Shayle considered this. "It also mentioned some prefer a personal touch? What did it mean by that?"

"Well, certain men just like beating animals with clubs, but I was talking about blood slaves there so naturally I meant blood magic, my lady. You can't get any more personal than that. Spells like blood control can force a slave to obey whether they want to or not, and if they try to resist the pull of their own lifeblood it's incredibly painful—or that's what it looks like. The magister simply keeps making use of the spell for as long as it takes for the slave to stop fighting it. Eventually they just start obeying commands because they've become so used to their bodies being beyond their own control, and their minds have become conditioned to believing resistance is an exercise both hopeless and agonising."

"Conditioning thralls is a personal effort in most cases," the other mused. "Some magisters find the whole experience long and tedious—too many castings in too brief a time span can kill, but ultimately necessary if you want it done right. Others, I hear they find the training process satisfying. First Enchanter Lysander once said the longer a thrall resisted, the more piquant the victory."

"Hmph. He sang a _very_ different tune before they handed him his dead master's Circle Staff."

"Indeed. And the Aequitarians fell for it and supported his elevation. Idiots."

Shayle was alternately relieved and troubled when, at that point, she recognised the Crow and the Treacherous Warden emerging from the passage that led upstairs, accompanied by a female elf dressed as a mage and a male elf dressed as a blood slave. Behind them, practically hot on their heels, came a tattooed and white-dressed (barely) thrall, several warriors and a number of mages. Had they been apprehended? The party's escort had gained instant attention from the guards stationed around the mock-throne, and even the golem-mages glanced over to see what was afoot. Some of the mages tailing the guards who were following Zevran's group sidetracked, heading straight for the throne room's guard captain.

"Your First Enchanter succeeded its master?" Shayle asked quickly, trying to keep their attention on her even as she shot the assassins several furtive glances, waiting to see if they would signal her, but the Warden's dark eyes were fixed on the sunlight streaming through the door and Zevran looked like he was sweating. There was a dark patch staining the right shoulder of his robe. "Is it true the previous one was assassinated by an Antivan Crow?"

That made both mages stare at her, then one snorted inelegantly while the other laughed. "Er…no? He was challenged by another magister for his seat in the senate. Both magisters were killed in the duel, as was the thrall of the would-be usurper. The First Enchanter's thrall fled into the tower proper and was eventually hunted down by Lysander, as responsibility for his master's slaves fell to him. If that was meant to be an assassination attempt, I can't say it's any different to the usual squabbles between the powerful."

"That's why it's safer to be a guard," his companion said wryly. "Important enough that you're needed, but not so important that anyone wants to bother killing you."

Shayle only listened with half an ear, the rest of her attention on the others as they headed for the huge front door of the tower. Behind them, the guard captain was pointing to where the golem-mages stood with Shayle near the threshold, and he suddenly yelled something in Arcanum. Shayle had heard the phrase a few times and knew what it meant:

"_Identify! Mages or mundanes?_"

One of the mages Shayle was with glanced to where the captain was indicating, Zevran's robe-swathed party, then reached within his own garments to extract the Golem Control Rod. "Excuse me, Lady Cadash," he said, and canted his head back to look up at where his golem towered far above.

Shayle looked at her companions; still no signal.

Zevran didn't know Arcanum, but Xai should have reacted by now. Their thrall and guard escort were looking back though, in surprise, like this hadn't been expected.

"_Golem! Identify that group of four. Mages or mundanes?_"

An enormous steel head swivelled to stare downwards.

Shayle decided not to wait any longer, and unshouldered her two-handed hammer. She'd been looking forward to this.

"_Mundanes._" The golem's leaden tone reverberated through the chamber.

This was followed by a sharp cry of surprise and pain, then a skidding noise as one of the golem-mages slid across the marble floor on his back, clutching at his crushed chest and gurgling.

Shayle picked up the control rod he'd dropped, weighed the runed blue crystal thoughtfully in one hand, then remembered the second golem-mage who was backing away with a slack-jawed expression while groping for her own rod.

"Golem! Crush that mage!"

"Argh, no! Golem, protect m—!"

_CRUNCH._

* * *

People screamed and ran for it. Those who'd been heading into the tower fled back out into Minrathous' central square, those who'd been heading for the door scrambled backwards and away, at first because of the red smear that had once been a mage, but then because the warrior guards were drawing their bows and the mage guards were beginning to weave the Fade into visible streamers of light. Zevran, Xai, Ciela and Kamator, on the other hand, roused by the sudden flurry of activity and shouts, broke into a mad dash for the exit. The thrall who'd been following them abruptly ditched his astonished guards and gave chase, desperation written across his face.

"_Archers, take that dwarf down! Mages, apprehend those impersonators!_"

Shayle ducked behind the solid steel leg of her golem as arrows pinged off or shattered against the metal. She gripped the rod tightly, wishing she could break it here and now, but spoke the command instead and hoped the spirit within the construct would forgive her once it was free: "Golem! Destroy my attackers!"

The golem reached both massive arms up, seized the stone masonry forming the arched top of the doorframe and _hauled. _With a great screech of metal joints and cracking of rock, the keystone and several feet of gold-veined granite was torn from the wall and, without pause, thrown effortlessly across the room at the archers. The ensuing crash and cloud of flying shrapnel killed or injured a third of them, threw more off their feet, and even struck some of the incanting mages, causing spells to fizzle.

But one caster got a spell off. The thrall chasing them got hit. An arcane bolt slammed into his back and he tripped, falling with a cry, "_Wait! Mercy! Please, take me with you_!"

"GO!" Xai roared when Ciela started to slow and look back. He shoved the girl and Zevran ahead of him, eliciting an agonised snarl from the Antivan and a protest from the Fereldan, then dropped his staff and drew his swords, cracking the hilts against each other to jolt the dweomer runes to life. He headed back for the thrall. "_SHAYLE!_"

"Golem! Protect my allies!"

Another section of wall took out half the remaining guards, then the golem lumbered from its post by the door. Shayle ducked and scampered across the entranceway before the remaining archers could recover and draw beads on her, diving for the corpse of the mashed golem-mage and retrieving the second control rod. It was intact. These things had been crafted, funnily enough, to withstand a golem's strength.

"Golem!" she shouted, brandishing the device even as she darted behind the steel legs for cover. "Kill those mages!"

Zevran, Ciela and Kamator cleared the threshold of the Circle Tower, barely avoiding falling chunks of stone as they sprinted out into the afternoon sunlight. They ran for the crowd of spectators gawking at the golems' rampage through the rising cloud of dust and were barely given a second glance, for they were no more than a lucky trio who had managed to slip safely past the madness. They weren't left wondering for long before Xai and the thrall emerged at speed, the latter being propelled ahead by the Warden, whose gait was hampered by a limp. Finding Zevran in the crowd with his eyes, the former master made a single small Crow sign with one hand: _Fly._

"We have somewhere to be," Zevran said aloud, but quietly. He led the two other elves to the rear of the swelling crowd and then, after getting his bearings, towards the street he recognised would ultimately lead them to where Shianni waited with the horses. After a minute, somewhere behind them there was ghastly crescendo of crashing brickwork, accompanied by a chorus of shrieks.

Zevran glanced back a couple of times and saw Xai and the thrall following at a distance, but no sign of Shayle. The dwarf had arranged for an alternate way out of the city if it turned out the golems would be needed, and was paying for the passage with lyrium.

"This way, my friends," the Antivan said, and led his companions deeper into the city.

Towards freedom.


	22. One Step Forward

_Author's Note: It's not important for this chapter, but Shianni and Soris being siblings are hereby retconned. Turns out they are indeed cousins, but you never learn this as a City Elf. Also, that was a really long delay between chapters. I'm sorry. :/_

* * *

Shianni waited, fidgeting in her Tevinter-style armour and staring anxiously down the paved avenue the others should be appearing at the other end of at any minute now.

She and three plain-clothed Fereldan soldiers were holding tight in an estate Xai had cased as being, to all intents and purposes, abandoned. The buildings stood empty, the gardens were overgrown, the fountain dry, the guard outposts all forsaken. It was located in a quiet district; no one had used this land for over a decade according to city records, and while they were all hoping it would go unnoticed that the estate's iron-wrought gates had been forced they were keeping the noise down as much as possible. So far, the horses were cooperating.

_I have learned how to ride_.

In the midst of her nervous state, a spark of true pride glowed. Her capacity for alcohol aside, which shouldn't really count, Shianni didn't have many skills she could claim to be proud of. What could someone hope to learn in an alienage? Letters and numbers and sometimes a trade if your parents knew one. Shianni could read, write given time, use her fingers to count, and cook a really good rat. She didn't know if horse riding and dagger fighting meant a brighter future when she finally returned home, but it had to offer more than being a shem's servant or a man's housewife.

Still, it wasn't horses or daggers that had gotten her here but her usual stubbornness and habit for getting herself into trouble. How could she have known that trying to talk an assassin into killing Vaughan would lead her _here_? She'd rescued Fereldan elves she'd never met before, and had been shocked to discover many of them recognised _her_ as "that red-headed girl who was shouting at the Tevinters outside the hospice."

"_You were right. We should have listened to you. We're sorry! Please, can you get us home_?"

She shook her head with an angry frown, and reached out to pat her horse's mane to soothe herself.

She was here, and all this had happened not because she was _skilled_, but because she was stubborn and hot-headed. Although Zevran called it being tenacious, which sounded nicer.

_Where are they?_

She wished she could have helped more than this, but knew everyone had been given the role best suited to them. Hers wasn't pretending to be a mage, or acting as though the slavery that was everywhere in this place wasn't affecting her. It wasn't being able to seize control of golems or creeping carefully through shadows. It definitely wasn't killing anyone, or coming to a heroic rescue like Soris and Nelaros had tried in Denerim…like Xai and Zevran were attempting this very moment. But it had to be more than waiting with the horses, ready for the escape from Minrathous.

"There," a guard said suddenly, pointing, and Shianni looked up. Three figures had just come around the avenue's bend and were hurrying towards the estate. Two were hooded and wearing robes, but the third was wearing a blood red slave robe, dark-skinned and clearly neither her cousin nor either of her Antivan companions.

"I don't know if it's them," she started to say warningly, and cut herself off as the central figure doffed his hood. Zevran, even with his tattoos covered and his blond hair stained black, was still recognisable. That had to mean the second hooded individual, wearing the robes she belatedly recognised selecting for her cousin, was Ciela Tabris. Shianni found herself holding her breath in hope as she took a few steps towards the approaching party.

"Cousin?"

Ciela's face lifted.

Shianni had known this woman all her life. They had grown up, gotten in trouble and been drunk together. They'd been taken by Vaughan and his cronies, survived, tried to pull each other through it, and sworn neither of them would ever again be _so afraid_ as they had been that day. Shianni had always considered her older relative the stronger and more resilient woman, ever since Aunt Adaia had taught her how to fight with real weapons, daggers and swords, things not permitted in the alienage. She'd always been a bit in awe of Ciela's fighting talents, even envious, as though being able to swing a forbidden blade was an automatic elevation to Elven Heroine. Vaughan had snatched some of her humour away, or rather sharpened it to a cutting edge, but he hadn't made her weak or timid. Shianni had always been determined to emulate that lack of fear, or at least build a good mask so that people would never know, and she might even be able to trick herself...

But Ciela was afraid now. Shianni could see the blackness behind her glorious eyes, which were suddenly filling with tears. She found herself being hugged fiercely, with "_Thank you,_" being whispered into her ear, and could only hug back as tight as she could.

"All the way to the Tevinter Imperium," Ciela said quietly, her tone practically one of disbelief. "I dreamed of rescue but I never…And Dad's safe? You got everyone out?"

"Everyone I could," Shianni assured her, because it _hadn't_ been everyone. Some hadn't survived the voyage from Denerim, had perished in slavery or been taken to destinations she didn't know or couldn't reach. A small number, once released to the Fereldan embassy, had been so broken they hadn't known they'd been saved. Others simply…died in the night. It had been heartbreaking, seeing them come so close to going home only to slip quietly away, never to awaken. "They're on a ship, sailing back to Ferelden, and Uncle Cyrion's on it too."

"You're amazing, Shianni." Ciela let her go and, smiling, wiped her eyes with her sleeve. The motion smudged something that had been on her face, exposing a series of thin, shiny blue lines. Shianni frowned a little.

"What're those?"

"What're…?" Ciela seemed to realise what she was talking about. Her hand flew to cover her eye and she swore, whirling to face the unobtrusively attentive Zevran. "Damn! I need more of that cream!"

"After you change clothes," he said, nodding towards the tiny gatehouse. "You will smudge more before you are done, no? There is some Tevinter armour in there similar to Shianni's, and a sword, I believe. I will be donning much the same in a moment so that our merry band looks the part of a magister's handsome entourage. We must move quickly," he added to Shianni. "There was bloodshed, bodies, and a great deal of falling masonry once the golems got involved. If the gates are closed before we get through them we may be in store for a good old fashioned bloodbath in the streets. Hah! Just like in Antiva!"

"Are you feeling all right?" Shianni asked, peering at him.

"He is injured," the unnamed elf in the red robe said. "Blood loss."

"My good friend Xai bandaged it! Then your cousin punched it, then Xai shoved it, which did not help, I think." Zevran swayed a tiny bit then frowned and shook his head firmly. "I should…see about getting it redressed while we have time. Shianni, my dear, if Ciela does not need your help then perhaps—?"

"Where _is _Xai?" Shianni interrupted. She gave Zevran a look of dismay. "He made it out, right?"

"He was right behind us," Ciela said as both she and Zevran turned to look over their own shoulders, the latter muttering something unpleasant-sounding in Antivan. "He had another thrall with him."

"I will go look—" Zevran began, but Shianni cut him off.

"We don't have time! You both have to change clothes and Zevran, you can get the guards to help you with your injury then help Ciela cover that mark on her face. I'll look for Xai."

"Shianni—"

"Zev," the red-head said, fixing him with a dire look. "I've been standing here doing nothing but stand around and agonise for _ages_. If you tell me to wait here while _you_ go sort things out, I swear you'll regret it!"

Zevran feigned a hurt expression. "My dear, I was merely going to suggest that you hurry. I do not wish to be out of sight of those flashing dark eyes for a moment longer than necessary."

"Right," she said brusquely, pushing past before he or her surprised cousin could see the heat stinging her cheeks. "Be right back."

"Oh, and Shianni…" Zevran was suddenly at her elbow and speaking quite low so that no one else could overhear. "The slave Xai has with him…we acquired him under unusual circumstances. He may well be an unwitting spy and I suspect our friend is interrogating him as we speak, so be prepared for what you might see, hmm?"

"…torture?"

"Perhaps." Zevran paused when she didn't move, immobilised by a sudden flash of memory. "Have you changed your mind about going?"

"N-no." She cursed herself for the hitch, but Zevran merely nodded and said with a suggestive smirk, "Then I will look forward to seeing you again shortly, no?"

Shianni imagined another naughty word, this time directed at Zevran, as she hurried away along the avenue. She'd thought the appearance of Ciela would distract him from his habitual flatteries. Her cousin was stronger, braver, more beautiful, and in the past had never failed to draw complete undivided attention. Surely she'd turn Zevran's head in a day or two, whether or not she actually _tried, _and then Shianni could go back to being safely invisible.

She paused at the mouth of an alley from which voices were coming, readied herself as best she could then marched in.

Xai, in mage robes, had a dark-haired elf pinned to the wall by way of not one, but both of his swords scissored against the slave's neck. Fortunately things didn't seem to have escalated past intimidation, but the elf was wide-eyed and babbling in Arcanum, clearly terrified, and Shianni only hesitated long enough to recognise the thin blue tattoos around both of his eyes before striding over purposefully.

"Xai—" she said, and leapt back when one of the assassin's swords hissed through the air towards her, followed shortly by the assassin's eyes. "I—we—" Shianni took another step away, almost unconsciously. She didn't like that look. "We have to go. Now. Before the alarm is raised and the gates shut."

Xai continued to stare at her, then seemed to become aware of the fact his prisoner had fallen silent. The blade pressed to the elf's throat twitched slightly. "I don't recall telling you to shut up, thrall."

"I swear by all the gods," the elf said, his fingers curling against the wall at his back, "my mistress is not your enemy and I was not sent! She set me free!"

Both swords were suddenly whipped back into their previous scissor-grip. "_Magisters do not free thralls_," Xai spat, hot and vicious and nothing like the Warden Shianni was used to. "It's against Tevinter law!"

"She said I would have to escape and she would turn her head! She said—she said your group was my chance!" His eyes rolled to Shianni, begging. "You were already freeing one thrall, she thought you might take another!"

"Which is a fine story, up until she uses blood magic to have you kill us while we sleep, or uses your phylactery to follow us, catch us, then curry favour with the First Enchanter by handing us all in." The blades pinched tighter around their victim's throat. "She could have told you anything. She can make you _do_ anything."

"Please—you have one of his thralls. The First Enchanter is already going to follow you! I can be useful. I can help."

"How?" Shianni asked, telling herself that Xai was only pretending to be scary. He didn't mean it.

"I can…do this…" The elf brought one of his hands up around waist height, turning the palm upwards, and a bright bead of light sparked into being like a tiny blue star. It flared once, brilliantly, then guttered out when Xai's weapons jerked, forcing him onto the tips of his toes and into a choked gasp.

"Don't kill him!" Shianni grabbed at the human's shoulder and felt him flinch violently from the touch a fraction of a second before he was rounding on her with a visceral snarl and slammed his elbow into her gut. She fell backwards onto the pavement, thanks to her armour more stunned than hurt, but the shock of his attack and indignity of landing on her arse was nothing compared to the heart-stopping, limb-freezing fear as he loomed over her with both swords glinting sunlight and his eyes full of shadow.

_Maker, no. Get up. Get up! Were all those weeks of training for nothing? Andraste's ass, Shianni, get back on your feet!_

…but she huddled there like a coward, and couldn't do anything else.

After a moment of mutual stillness, Xai stepped back and put up his swords. "I propose we give him some clothes and send him away," he said, distantly, as though the last couple of minutes hadn't happened. "He can escape on his own."

Shianni swallowed, glancing towards the elf. He hadn't moved either, but at her look he said, "Please…I just want to go home. To Nevarra."

Her gaze returned to Xai. "He's coming with us. He was a slave, same kind as Ciela. And a mage could be useful in the Imperium."

"We don't have provisions for five, let alone six."

"I'll eat less."

"We only have four horses."

"I'll walk!" Trying to borrow strength from sheer infuriation, at him as well as herself, Shianni staggered upright. "Maker help me, Xai, I'm not leaving anyone in this place, all right? Not if I can help them!"

Xai rammed his swords into their sheaths. "And if he comes into your tent at night," he said, meeting her glare coldly, "brands glowing with blood magic and ready to rape you with a dagger blade while the magister in his mind watches and laughs, will you be prepared to kill him?"

"Don't you—don't you _dare_ joke about stuff like that."

"And don't _you _get too charitable or too close just because he's a fellow elf or pitiful former slave."

Shianni advanced an angry step, fists clenched. "Ciela was a thrall. So I should be ready to kill my own cousin too, huh?"

"If you'd rather she kill you instead, that's your call."

"And Zevran? Or you? If a mage makes _you_ attack me you'd want me to kill y—" Shianni fell back, wide-eyed when he took a threatening pace towards her, one arm upraised and fist cocked to strike. He lowered it immediately afterwards, but there was an ugly sneer on his face.

"Somehow I doubt I have to worry about you killing me, Shianni. Even to save your own life."

She stared at the ground as he turned aside to go back to the mage, and felt like a gaping hole had opened up within…right at the place where she'd been hoarding her little bits of pride at small successes and lessons learned. She wanted to be mad at him for speaking to her like and tearing down everything she'd been trying to build, but he was…he was _right_, wasn't he? And so much of what she'd learned about defending herself and being able to withstand that sort of provocation, things she thought made her strong…_he'd_ taught all that to her. Him and Zev. Had she let him down? Was that why he was so angry with her?

"I'm…sorry?" she tried.

He returned, one hand dragging the thrall by the arm. "_Are_ you, now? What for?"

"I just thought…I mean, we _practised_. You helped. I thought if something like that happened to me again I'd…you know…" She wanted to face him, but was too afraid of how he might be looking at her. She sounded like she was practically whining. "I thought I'd handle myself better. I thought I'd _be_ better. I really believed that—"

The air stirred as Xai stepped around her and strode away. Shianni bit her lip against tears at being so thoroughly brushed off, but jumped when a voice nearby said, very softly:

"Are you all right, Mistress?"

Shianni's heart pounded. He'd left the slave behind. _Why_, when a moment ago he'd been grilling the poor elf for answers? Clearing her throat and straightening her armour, she tried to compose herself. "I'll be all right." Was there a hint of sympathy and _I don't believe you _in his eyes? Her jaw hardened. If there was, she was going to ignore it. She could beat this. Sodding shem… "I'm Shianni, as you probably heard before. Your name is…?"

"I was…I _am _Enansal."

She lifted her brows, but that question could wait. "Well, Enansal…what do you say we get out of here?"

"Yes." He bowed his head in a nod, not fast enough to conceal the quick shimmer of tears. "_Thank you_.."


	23. Escape Routes

_Author's Note: If you're a writer and don't already know about this, please be aware that Bioware is running an official WRITING COMPETITION (finally, after all the art and cosplay comps!) to celebrate the release of the Dragon Age novel 'Asunder'. Not only will there be prizes for the five most outstanding entrants, as selected by the Community team, but David Gaider, lead writer of Dragon Age, will read these five stories and select an ultimate winner (who will receive additional prizes, including an interview with DG himself). You can find the rules in the Bioware Social Network forum in the "Dragon Age II News and Announcements" section, but the basics are a 2,500 word limit, one entry only, it must be from the perspective of a mage or templar, and it must conform to Dragon Age lore (so no AUs). It closes on Jan 10 so get writing! :D We've been waiting **years** for Bioware to acknowledge the talented writers in their fanbase!_

* * *

With the help of Kamator and a handsome Fereldan soldier, Zevran's shoulder had been redressed in a fresh poultice and he'd been re-armed in the Tevinter mail by the time he saw Xai Merras returning to the estate—by himself.

"My thanks," the Crow murmured to the elven slave, gritting his teeth against a flinch as Kamator fastened his weapons harness and straightened the scabbards across his back. His shoulder needed stitches and more attention than a simple dressing, but he could hold out until they camped in the evening, of that he was grimly determined. He'd ingested a mild painkiller to make sure, but dressed or not his right arm would be useless for a time. Xai's sword had done quite a bit of damage.

Just when he was about to call out a question as to where Shianni and the other one were, and what was Xai thinking leaving the girl on her own with an unknown, the two elves appeared some distance behind him. Zevran closed his mouth and gave the former master a quizzical look as he went for the horses without a glance or word for anyone, forsaking his blood-spattered mage robes for the grey leathers beneath. While Zevran watched, Xai slung the robes over a saddle, paused a moment with one arm braced against the animal's side, then took a drink from a handy wineskin.

Zevran nodded to Kamator. He glanced at where Ciela Tabris stood a fair distance away, sword drawn and angled to catch her own reflection as she reconcealed her lyrium brand, shrugged to himself and headed towards Xai. The girl had rejected Shianni's proposal that Zevran assist with the application, and who was he to argue?

"I don't think she likes me," he remarked conversationally to Xai, more for want of an opener than as a serious complaint.

But the Warden said: "Good. I'm tired of people liking you."

Zevran hummed. "And here I was expecting a witty rejoinder, not something that sounded suspiciously like _honesty_, my friend."

"Where's the file you stole from the tower?"

"What f—?"

Xai moved suddenly. It was only a fraction of motion, a subtle shift of position that was nonetheless visible to a trained Crow. Zevran's posture reacted automatically, but anyone who was watching the two of them from afar would have seen very little.

"Don't play games with me, Zevran. I _like_ games, and you won't appreciate the stakes."

"Truly? Are these stakes of yours lower or higher than fleeing the inner city before the magisters trap us here?"

Xai's gaze flicked towards the dark silhouette of the mage tower jutting into the blue sky. Then, without saying anything further, he picked up his mage robe and strode across the courtyard towards Ciela, who had finished masking her face and was talking with Shianni and the new thrall. He got a mixed reception. The thrall backed away, Shianni straightened and gave him a defiant glare, and only Ciela seemed to welcome his presence. After a brief exchange Shianni nodded curtly and took the jar of make-up from Ciela, while the new thrall put Xai's robe on. Zevran immediately guessed what that meant: the elf was a mage. Xai had been intending to bluff his way through the gates with his knowledge of Arcanum and Minrathous customs, and if necessary use of a few carnivale tricks to imitate magic, which of course had been the major weak point of their plan. They'd been gambling on Xai's silver tongue to get them past that particular hurdle without having to actually jump it.

"I am not convinced it is a good idea," he said to Shianni when she came over, leaving the three thralls standing together. "Your cousin and this new elf—"

"Enansal," Shianni supplied.

"—they have only just been freed, and they are scared, I can see it. If the guards challenge him, that mage may well fall apart on us."

"How'd you know he's a mage?"

"Because I'm as intelligent as I am ridiculously handsome?"

Shianni rolled her eyes a bit and folded her arms. "I didn't even know mages could be slaves. I thought they were all powerful lords and ladies here."

Zevran had not thought about it much himself, although he had asked a few questions for curiosity's sake. "Shayle tells me only the strong rule, which makes the Imperium much the same as the rest of the world, yes? Not all mages are casters of mighty spells. Some are weak, or merely ordinary. So, my dear, what have you learned of this Enansal of yours?"

"I don't know what sort of mage he is or if he's any good, but he says his mistress sent him after you _hoping _he'd escape. You were already rescuing my cousin, see?"

"Did he say anything else?" Zevran asked, concealing his incredulity. No wonder Xai was in a foul mood. Shianni had brought a spy into their midst.

"I told him to tell me everything he told Xai. He said that magister Ezio—the one who attacked me and who Xai sold you to? He says Ezio is dead and Magistra Phaedra has made sure of it. And when Xai asked why she tried to stop you all from leaving—she wanted to talk to you or something? He said she knew _you _were there and wanted to hire you for an assassination job. Enansal doesn't know who she wanted you to kill, but she's in something called the Senate and he thinks it's political. How'd she know you were there? I thought you were disguised."

"Ezio used a phylactery to track my movements, and Phaedra was with him." Far too late to wonder if getting into the magistra's employ would have made escape an easier feat, and he wasn't sure what to think of Ezio being dead except to hope it was true. There was no way Enansal could know for certain, was there, if he had been at Phaedra's side while Ezio controlled his thrall from several storeys above? "Considering how we first met," he added, "she clenching her fist and I being crushed by her magic, I am rather surprised she would consider me for a job."

"That's what I said. Sort of. Enansal didn't know she'd attacked you, but he knew you'd killed Farian—that was the thrall's name. Farian had been Phaedra's lover."

Zevran chuckled humourlessly. "Ah. So this is what they call a sex slave in the Imperium, eh?"

"Andraste's ass, Zev," Shianni went to gather the reins of two of the horses, "you don't really believe that, do you? A woman forcing men into sex?"

"Why not? It is not only men who do unspeakable things to women, my dear. The strong do as they please while the rest of us must get by with our wits and, on occasion, a vial of deadly poison or strategically placed dagger."

Shianni looked uncertain. "Enansal would have said something if Phaedra was…cruel to him." she said at last. "Grab those two, will you? Thanks for the help," she added to the guards, who nodded (one wished them luck). "Anyway, he comes from somewhere called Cumberland in Nevarra. I promised we'd help get him home."

"Of course you did. And so we shall."

Shianni gave him a suspicious glare. "That's it? You're not going to say it's a bad idea, or to watch my back in case he tries something, or that we don't have enough horses?"

"Why go over ground I am sure our friend Xai has already covered?" Zevran asked with a wry smile. He actually hadn't considered the horses, and now that he was he found himself smirking. "You have not learned how to ride double yet, have you?"

* * *

That didn't happen—at least, not yet.

Enansal rode in the lead with Xai and Kamator flanking him on foot and jogging to keep up. Xai had retained his leather armour, but thrown a Grey Wardens tunic over the top. The other elves, Zevran, Shianni and Ciela, were all mounted and following closely in their guard attire.

The south gate, at least, did not seem to have been closed, but those on watch were more alert than gate guards tended to be. Someone had tipped them off.

"Not something that happens every day," one of the guards said, studying faces. "Slaves breaking out of the Circle Tower and golems running amok."

"First I've heard of it," Xai replied, handing his papers over. "The Grey Wardens are the last to hear about anything except darkspawn."

"Right, right…" a second guard said, while her companion circled the party. Zevran noted two more dealing with entrants to the inner city. "And your compound is nowhere near the square, is it?"

Xai flashed her a small smile that indicated he was aware of the question's purpose. "It's on Verity Street, almost opposite The High Dragon tavern. We are headed for Weisshaupt, ser, on business. Mage Ansal here has volunteered his retinue to assist in a slight detour I had in mind, and I was briefing them all at the compound of what could be expected. We are also in something of a hurry to cross the Valarian Fields and get into the foothills before it grows dark."

That was Zevran's cue. He plucked a small pouch from his belt and tossed it to the other guard, distracting him from scrutinising the party too closely. Shayle might be escaping the city separately from them, but she'd left more than enough lyrium for bribes. As the contents were inspected and the guards remarked on how brave they all were assisting the Grey Wardens against the darkspawn, Zevran wondered how she was faring. The dwarf might never let him touch her, but at least she was an entertaining companion. His present company had to learn how to relax or take a joke once in a while.

* * *

"Move it, woman! By the Dragon's Chains, have you never had to _run_ a single day in your life?"

Shayle, gasping and wincing as she staggered gamely after Gerta, nevertheless found enough breath to unleash a wheezing retort of, "If I was still a golem, I would leave it choking dust!"

"'If I was still a golem.'" The surface dwarf mimicked sneeringly as she jogged along ahead of her. "You whine about that so often I wonder why you bothered."

"I-don't-whine!" Shayle protested between panting breaths.

"You whine worse than any man I've ever met, and I've been around humans my entire life so that's saying something."

Shayle saved her breath this time, distracted by trying to figure out the cause of a stabbing pain low in her left side that jabbed agony with her every step. She was sure it wasn't her armour and she knew for a fact there was no injury there, so why was it hurting? Oh, what did it matter? _Everything_ was hurting, her legs ached and felt like they wanted to drop off, and no matter how much air she tried to gulp her stupid body never seemed satisfied. Between injuries, disgusting bodily functions and _absurd_ biological urges, how did people manage?

Honestly, the only benefit she'd derived from her transformation was that birds no longer tried to land on her. As wonderful as that was, it was hardly a substitution for all she'd given up: superior strength, unparalleled endurance, a body that weapons bounced off rather than sank into, and the ability to silence imbeciles with a single swing of her fist.

"If I was still a golem-"

"Old Gods! Will you _shut up_ about being a rutting golem!"

Shayle glowered at the back of the dwarf's head but continued on without further comment.

Gerta was leading her, by the light of a strange blue lantern, down an underground passage the dwarves had dug out beneath Minrathous during a long-dead age when the Tevinter Imperium and Dwarven Kingdom had been allies. The tunnels were wide and high, large enough for a juggernaut to stride down, and Shayle had little doubt it must have been an old trade route the ancient dwarves and humans had used to deal with one another. Officially the tunnel opened up within the inner walls of Minrathous; the main entrance, the ones the magelords knew about, could be sealed via a huge dweomer-encrusted slab of metal and dwarven engineering, and was always guarded. But Gerta's group had known of at least one alternate access point via a dwarf-owned estate's larder. Shayle had no idea if dwarves or darkspawn had mined that smaller tunnel, but didn't care. All that mattered was that she'd paid good lyrium for safe passage out of the city so she could regroup with the others beyond the walls, and Gerta never asked many questions if the pay was good. Shayle hadn't decided if she liked that about her or found it disturbing.

The main tunnel connected to a bustling thaig before long, fully lit and bustling with activity. Kolbrunar Thaig was built on the rubble of whatever had stood here before the First Blight had claimed it. Dwarves displaced from their homes after the Deep Roads had been claimed by the darkspawn, surfacers looking to move back below ground, casteless who thought they could do better, all had carved a living into the stone here. With lyrium deposits long ago mined to exhaustion or too perilous to reach, they survived by selling their talents as enchanters, runecrafters, stonemasons, gemcutters, guards, even as servants and slaves. The number of dwarves in the last two categories, Shayle had heard it whispered, was always growing. While the dwarven population in Orzammar declined, whether due to the constant proximity to that cursed lava, exposure to lyrium, or skirmishes with the darkspawn, here it steadily climbed. The more dwarves there were, the less room, the more hungry, the more crime, and the thaig had expanded as numbers swelled. Kolbrunar had its own Dust Town, its own caste system, and its own elite who thought the best way to get rid of gangue was to sell it to mages.

Or to golems looking for new bodies.

With a shiver, Shayle realised she didn't like it down here. It must be the height of the ceiling that was causing this. Yes. It seemed much further up now that she was walking so much closer to the ground. And if it fell on her! Oh, it didn't bear thinking about!

The source of her disquiet solved yet refusing to abate, she trundled after Gerta as she navigated the outer avenues of the thaig. Save the odd backward glance to check she was keeping up, and frequent eyerolls to show her disgust at Shayle's slowness, the dwarf ignored her and made no attempt to talk. Though after a while Shayle swore the other woman picked up speed just to spite her. She panted her way after in the heavy mail she'd insisted on wearing, wincing with every pang of that dratted stabbing sensation in her side, weighed down further by the massive hammer strapped to her back, and just as she was getting so exhausted and wrung out her pride was about to crack for the sake of begging a minute's rest, Gerta rounded the corner of a stone building into a shadowy recess and Shayle, with a heartfelt groan, staggered hastily after her lest she be left behind.

It was a _very _shadowy recess, she noted…but only after stepping within.

_Pigeon cra-!_

"Grab her!"

Four pairs of hands grappled her; she didn't even have time to put her arms up before she was knocked to the ground and pinned. Her outraged roar was efficiently thwarted by a thick bundle of rags shoved so far into her mouth her eyes bulged and she gagged, but she also stopped struggling.

"Good girl." Gerta stood over her, arms folded, a look of false solicitousness adorning her face. "Since you're tired, how about my boys carry you the rest of the way? You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Shayle let her expression of loathing do the talking but Gerta only laughed and snapped her fingers at the shady cretins holding her down.

Fortunately plate armour didn't give much opportunity for groping, so she wasn't forced to experience being pawed as she was frogmarched through the dank, be-puddled backstreets of Kolbrunar. It smelled disgustingin this part of the thaig, rancid with an odour that almost rivalled Minrathous' slave pens down by the docks, and there was a constant dripping noise. Had she not heard someone say that there were _sewers _beneath the city, where all that—that _waste_ was sent below ground?

She'd have given this horrific idea a great deal more thought if the dwarves holding her weren't taking up most of her attention.

The ghastly aromas gave way after a couple more minutes of marching, as did the buildings and dim lights of Kolbrunar. They came to a huge metal door which was swung partially open to reveal a very long tunnel that stretched away into absolute blackness. The five dwarves loitering nearby with torches, tankards and a broached keg came to some semblance of attention when they saw they had company.

"This is the passage I told you about," Gerta said to Shayle, motioning for one of her lackeys to remove the gag. "Follow the directions I gave and don't get lost, and you'll get to that exit point in the High Reaches. Now to discuss payment."

"It was already paid!" Shayle spat as soon as she was able, enraged. "It has no right to demand more!"

"This is your safe conduct tax, Lady Cadash. Did you think you could sail that golem shell away without me hearing about it? Hand over the lyrium, or I'll have you cut out of your armour and we'll look for it ourselves."

"I don't have any!" Shayle struggled, strongly enough that the two dwarves holding her had to be helped by a third. "Why would it think I need lyrium down here?"

Gerta came closer to stand right in front of her. "I know you don't have all of it, Shayle. You stashed it with your friends. But you do have some. Odar shaped a nugget for you to wear as a necklace. I don't know what it's worth to _you_, but to me, that much lyrium could see me and my friends here through some pretty hard times. Oh, and I'll also be taking those golem control rods you boosted from the mages."

"No!" The rods were slipped from her belt by one of her captors and tossed one by one to Gerta. "It promised it would take me to a forge so they could be destroyed. This is outrageous! Those are the spirits of dwarves you're enslaving!"

"There's no profit in just letting people go free," Gerta said patiently, examining the etched blue cylinders with professional interest, "be they golems or dwarves. Honestly, Shayle, what right do you have to go judging me, or the magisters even?" She poked the former golem's forehead with the tip of a rod. It felt cold against her skin. "That's a slave's body you're walking around in. You killed her for it. You think Brenn wanted to die?"

Shayle's mouth went dry. No one had ever come out and said it to her, until now. No one except the elder mage, Wynne, who had warned her against this path, then left her to tread it alone.

"_Surely you can appreciate that this is wrong, Shayle. It's blood magic for starters, and you're stealing another woman's body_!"

"_So I must be trapped in this golem shell forever? How else did you think I would be set free?"_

"_I don't know. But I didn't expect this. I urge you to consider more options before proceeding." _

"_This will hardly be the first person I ever killed. Besides, it's Tevinter. Slaves die here all the time. What is one more mortal death? Why do you fight so hard for a dwarf you do not know?"_

_Wynne looked up at her sadly and shook her head. "Perhaps I am fighting for the dwarf I thought I did know."_

"Out with the lyrium, Shayle."

Moving woodenly as she was released, Shayle fished out the necklace. The chunk of processed lyrium had been taken from the heart of her golem and expertly polished into a flat disc. Etched into the surface was the ancestral design of House Cadash. Shayle had remembered seeing it when Asleena took her to her home thaig back in Ferelden, and wanted something solid to remind her both of the monument and the place she had come from so long ago.

Gerta took it, and handed her the blue lantern in return while gesturing to the tunnel. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Shayle was shoved ungently into the yawning passage, feeling even smaller than before. She regained her balance a few staggering steps inside to glance back, just in time to see the seal swing shut with a resounding boom.


End file.
